UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


ROBERT  ERNEST  COWAN 


THE   SPAMOWGRASS  PAPERS. 


MR.    SPARROWORASS    DESCENDS   TO  THE    INFERNAL   REOIOKS   ON    A    DHMB    WAITER. 

"He  came  to  the  rescue  with  a  hull-terrier,  a  Newfoundland  pup,  a  lantern,  and  a 
revolver.  The  moment  he  saw  me  nt  the  window  he  phot  at  me,  hut  fortunately  just 
missed  me.  I  threw  myself  under  the  table,  and  ventured  to  expostulate." — PAGE  72. 


"  I  managed  to  get  the  ring-leader  of  the  swinish  multitude  into  my  parlor.  He  was  a 
large,  powerful-looking  fellow  with  a  great  deal  of  comb,  long  legs,  mottled  complexion, 
and  ears  pretty  well  dogged.  He  stood  for  a  moment,  at  bay  against  the  sofa,  and  then 
charged  upon  the  dogs.." — PAP.R  90. 

X  p".v  York  .          Y 


THE  SPARROWGRASS  PAPERS 


OR, 


LIVING  IN  THE  COUNTRY. 


FREDERIC    S.    CO  Z  ZENS 


1  To  liim  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language." 


NEW    YORK: 
DERBY   &  JACKSON,    119   NASSAU   ST 

CINCINNATI  : II.    AV.    DERBY. 

1856. 


ENTKRKU  according  to  Act  of  Congrem,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

FREDERIC    S.     COZZENS, 
fu  lh«  Clerk's  Office  of  th«  DUtriot  Court  of  the  U.  S.  for  the  Southern  DUtrict  of  New  York. 


•»  .''-'  .-•,••.••-.  -         • 

.  ,.-:.-" . .-  --  ,• 
•  ,....  •  .  •  •  •  •..•'. 


W.  H.  Tix«o»,  Sterootyper. 


GHOEGI  RUHII.I.  A  Co.,  I'r 


•PS 


0— 

ONE    OF    THE    GENTLEST    OF    HUMORISTS, 


THE    KEY.    FKEDEKICK   W.    SHELTON, 


"LETTERS   FROM   UP  THE  RITER," 


IS  AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED. 


274,101 


GENTLE  READER! 

Doubtless  you  have  read,  in  the  work  of  a  quaint  old  com 
mentator  whose  name  has  been  quietly  obscuring  itself  in  the  rust 
of  nearly  three  centuries,  these  words — "  It  hath  beene  the  custome 
of  many  men  to  make  their  introductions  to  their  bookes,  like  to 
some  Grecian  Cities  gates;  so  ample,  that  (as  the  Prouerbe  ranne), 
their  Citie  was  ready  to  steale  thorow  the  same."  You  and  I 
who  appreciate  wisdom — especially  if  it  be  a  little  mouldy,  at  once 
recognized  the  value  of  the  hint  conveyed  by  that  piece  of  antiquated 
orthography.  Therefore,  to  you,  the  brevity  of  this  preface  will,  I 
trust,  commend  the  book  quite  as  much  as  though  I  had  taken  the 
matter  in  hand  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  a  score  of  pages. 
As  there  is  nothing  in  it  worth  a  smooth-faced  prologue,  nothing 
that  would  be  the  better  for  an  apology,  and  nothing  worth  review 
ing  seriously,  may  I  beg  leave  to  present  it  without  any  introduction, 
except  the  very  excellent  designs  of  Mr.  Barley? 

CHESTNUT  COTTAGE,  March  1st,  1856. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Living  in  the  Country — Rural  Anticipations — Early  Rising — Baked  Hippoppotami 
—Our  New  Chickens — A  Discovery — The  Advantages  of  having  a.  Watch-Dog 
in  the  Country — A  Finale  to  the  First  Garden,  and  Unpleasant  Prospects  for 
the  Future.— PAGE  13. 


CHAPTER  II. 

We  conclude  to  give  the  Country  another  Year's  Trial— Spring  Birds— Mr. 
Sparrowgrass  becomes  the  Owner  of  a  Boat — A  Visit  from  a  Friend — First 
Experience  with  a  Fish-net — An  Irishman  in  a  Fyke — Exchange  of  Civilities 
and  Cucumbers — Bate's  Cow,  and  a  Hint  to  Horticulturists — Local  Designa 
tions.— PAGE  19. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  Clouds  in  the  Country — A  Thunder-Shower — Mr.  Sparrowgrass  buys  a 
Bugle — Ineffectual  Music— A  Serenade  and  an  Interruption — First  Fruits — A 
Surprise,  and  the  Entire  Loss  of  our  Cherry  Crop. — PAGE  30. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  discourses  of  Social  Life  in  the  Rural  Districts — Town  and 
Country — A  Rural  Party — The  Advantages  of  dressing  iu  a  Plain  Way — Our 
New  Dog — Autumnal  Scenery — A  Family  Acqueduct. — PAGE  41. 

CHAPTER  V. 

Children  in  Town  and  Country— A  Mistake  about  a  Lady — The  Menagerie- 
Amusement  for  Children — Winter  Scenery — Another  Amusement  for  Children 
—Sucker  Fishing— General  Washington. — PAGE  52. 

1* 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

An  Event — Wolfert's  Roost — The  Nepperhan  and  its  Legends — Mr.  Sparrow- 
grass  descends  to  the  Infernal  Regions  on  a  Dumb  Waiter— Carrier  Pigeons 
and  Roosters — The  great  Polish  Exile— Poetry— Altogether  a  Chapter  of 
Birds.— PAGE  W. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

A  Country  Fire-place — Lares  and  Penates — Sentiment — Spring  Vegetables  in 
the  Germ — A  Garden  on  Paper — Warm  Weather — A  Festa — An  Irruption  of 
Noseologists — Constitutional  Law,  and  so  forth. — PAGE  79. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Mr.  Sparrowgrass  concludes  to  buy  a  Horse — Reminiscences  of  Bloomingdale — 
The  difference  between  now  and  then — A  Horse  as  can  go— An  Artist  Story 
— Godiva— Homeward  and  Outward  bound— The  Curtained  Dais  of  'the  Life 
School — A  new  "  Lady  of  Coventry." — PACK  94. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

A  Horse  of  another  color — Ancient  and  Modern  Points  of  a  Horse— A  suspected 
Organ  and  Retrograde  Movement— Mr.  Sparrowgrass  buys  the  Horse  that 
belongs  to  the  Man's  Brother — A  valuable  Hint  as  to  Stable-building — A 
Morning  Ride,  and  a  Discovery — Old  Dockweed — An  Evening  Ride,  and  a 
Catastrophe. — PAGE  118. 

CHAPTER  X. 

Children — An  Interrupted  Discourse — Mrs.  Sparrowgraas  makes  a  Brilliant 
Remark  —  Philadelphia  Phrases — Another  Interruption  —  Quaker; — A  few 
Quakeristics— A  Quaker  Baby— The  Early  Quakers— John  Woolman— Thomas 
Lurtlng- Broadbrims  in  a  Cathedral— And  a  Friendly  Suggestion. — PAGE  132. 

CHAPTER   XI. 

Our  new  Horse  improves — He  is  loaned  to  to  a  Neighbor,  and  disgraces  himself 
— Autumnal  Vegetation — The  Palisades  and  Rock  Cataract — An  agreeable 
Surprise — Mr.  Sparrowgrass  takes  a  short  trip  to  the  County  of  Broome — 
— Meets  with  a  Dlsajipointment  on  his  Return,  but  indulges  in  a  flowing  vein 
of  "  Adversity's  sweet  milk."— PAGE  14G. 


CONTENTS.  xi 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Our  New  Barber — Reminiscences  of  our  Old  Barber — A  Dog  of  another  Color — 
October  Woods — A  Party  on  the  Water — Home,  Sweet  Home,  with  Variations 
(flute  obligate) — A  row  to  the  Palisades— Iroquois  Legend— Return  to  the 
Cottage.— PAGE  160. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  Children  are  sent  to  School — Old  Soldiers — An  Invitation,  and  Cruel  Dis 
appointment — Our  Eldest  begins  to  show  Symptoms  of  the  Tender  Passion — 
Poetry — The  Melodies  of  Mother  Goose — Little  Posterity  by  the  Wayside— A 
Casualty—  The  Drowning  of  Poor  Little  Tommy. — PAGB  1S3. 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

Winter  once  more — Mr.  Sparrowgrass  feels  as  if  he  would  like  to  Chirp  a  little — 
Thomas  Fuller,  D.D. — The  Good  Wife — Old  Dockweed  again — A  Barrel  of 
Cider — News  of  the  Saddle  and  Bridle — Superior  Tactics  of  the  Village  Teams 
ter — Christmas — Great  Preparations — Christmas  Carols  and  Masques — A  Sug 
gestion  of  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass. — PAGE  195. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

An  offer  for  the  Horse — Difficulty  of  Shipping  him  according  to  the  Terms  of 
Bill  of  Lading — Anticipations — Marine  Sketch — Mrs.  Spanrowgrass  buys  a 
Patent  Bedstead — An  essay  on  Mechanical  Forces,  and  Suggestions  in  regard 
to  a  Bronze  Legislature — The  New  Bedstead  is  tried  and  found — "  not  avail 
able."— PAGE  208. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Casualties  will  occur— Ice  and  ice-houses — A  hint  from  the  Flowery  Nation- 
Baldwin's  Pond — Skaters — Our  horse  gets  into  business  and  is  launched  upon 
an  ice  island — A  Derrick — The  result  thereof. — PAGE  225. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

The  great  Siiow-storm — A  quotation  from  Samuel — Recollections  of  Town — What 
we  then  thought — A  Song — Scraps  in  a  Commonplace-book — An  old  epistle — 
And  anticipations.— PAGE  233. 


xii  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

A  Conference  in  Hie  Library — Mr.  Sparrowgrass  writes  an  Essay — Life  in  Town 
and  Life  in  the  Rural  Districts — Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  continues  the  theme — Two 
Pictures  from  Nature — and  the  Last  Word. — PAGE  244. 


CAPTAIN  DAVIS, — a  Californiiin  Ballad,         .......    267 

CAPTAIN  HKI.ORAVE,        -        ...'.        .        .        .        .        .        .        .    283 


THF 


SPARROWGKASS    PAPERS, 


-«*>- 


CHAPTER    I. 

Living  in  the  Country — Rural  Anticipations — Early  Rising — Baked  Hippopotami 
— Our  New  Chickens — A  Discovery — The  Advantages  of  having  a  Watch-Dog 
In  the  Country— A  Finale  to  the  First  Garden,  and  Unpleasant  Prospects  for 
the  Future. 

IT  is  a  good  thing  to  live  in  the  country.  To 
escape  from  the  prison-walls  of  the  metropolis — 
the  great  brickery  we  call  "  the  city  " — and  to  live 
amid  blossoms  and  leaves,  in  shadow  and  sunshine, 
in  moonlight  and  starlight,  in  rain,  mist,  dew, 
hoar-frost,  and  drouth,  out  in  the  open  campaign, 
and  under  the  blue  dome  that  is  bounded  by  the 
horizon  only.  It  is  a  good  thing  to  have  a  well 
with  dripping  buckets,  a  porch  with  honey-buds, 
and  sweet-bells,  a  hive  embroidered  with  nimble 


14  SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

bees,  a  sun-dial  mossed  over,  ivy  np  to  the  eaves, 
curtains  of  dimity,  a  tumbler  of  fresh  flowers  in 
your  bedroom,  a  rooster  on  the  roof,  and  a  dog 
under  the  piazza. 

"When  Mre.  Sparrowgrass  and  I  moved  into  the 
country,  with  our  heads  full  of  fresh  butter,  and 
cool,  crisp  radishes  for  tea;  with  ideas  entirely 
lucid  respecting  milk,  and  a  looseness  of  calcula 
tion  as  to  the  number  in  family  it  would  take  a 
good  laying  hen  to  supply  with  fresh  eggs  every 
morning;  when  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  and  I  moved 
into  the  country,  we  found  some  preconceived 
notions  had  to  be  abandoned,  and  some  departures 
made  from  the  plans  we  had  laid  down  in  the  little 
back-parlor  in  Avenue  G. 

One  of  the  first  achievements  in  the  country  is 
early  rising !  with  the  lark — with  the  sun — while 
the  dew  is  on  the  grass,  "  under  the  opening  eye 
lids  of  the  morn,"  and  so  forth.  Early  rising ! 
What  can  be  done  with  five  or  six  o'clock  in  town? 
What  may  not  be  done  at  those  hours  in  the 
country?  With  the  hoe,  the  rake,  the  dibble,  the 
spade,  the  watering-pot  ?  To  plant,  prune,  drill, 
transplant,  graft,  train,  and  sprinkle !  Mrs.  S.  and 
I  agreed  to  rise  ea/rly  in  the  country. 


EAKLY    RISING.  15 

"  Richard  and  Robin  were  two  pretty  men, 
They  laid  in  the  bed  till  the  clock  struck  ten  : 
Up  jumped  Richard  and  looked  at  the  sky : 
0  Brother  Robin !  the  sun  's  very  high !" 

Early  rising  in  the  country  is  not  an  instinct ;  it  is 
a  sentiment,  and  must  be  cultivated. 

A  friend  recommended  me  to  send  to  the  south 
side  of  Long  Island  for  some  very  prolific  potatoes 
— the  real  hippopotamus  breed.  Down  went  my 
man,  and  what,  with  expenses  of  horse-hire,  tavern 
bills,  toll-gates,  and  breaking  a  wagon,  the  hippo 
potami  cost  as  much  apiece  as  pine-apples.  They 
were  fine  potatoes,  though,  with  comely  features, 
and  large,  languishing  eyes,  that  promised  increase 
of  family  without  delay.  As  I  worked  my  own 
garden  (for  which  I  hired  a  landscape  gardener,  at 
two  dollars  per  day,  to  give  me  instructions),  I 
concluded  that  the  object  of  my  first  experiment  in 
early  rising  should  be  the  planting  of  the  hippopo- 
tamusses.  I  accordingly  rose  next  morning  at  five, 
and  it  rained !  I  rose  next  day  at  five,  and  it 
rained !  The  next,  and  it  rained  \  It  rained  for 
two  weeks  !  We  had  splendid  potatoes  every  day 
for  dinner.  "  My  dear,"  said  I  to  Mrs.  Sparrow- 
grass,  "  where  did  you  get  these  fine  potatoes  ?' 


16  S  P  A  It  It  O  W  G  14  A  8  S      F  A  1>  K  It  S  . 

"  Why,"  said  she,  innocently,  "  out  of  that  basket 
from  Long  Island !"  The  last  of  the  hippopota- 
inusses  were  before  me,  peeled,  and  boiled,  and 
mashed  and  baked,  with  a  nice  thin  brown  crust 
on  the  top. 

I  was  more  successful  afterwards.  I  did  get 
some  fine  seed-potatoes  in  the  ground.  But  some 
thing  was  the  matter :  at  the  end  of  the  season,  1 
did  not  get  as  many  out  as  I  had  put  in. 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  who  is  a  notable  house  wife, 
said  to  me  one  day,  "Now,  my  dear,  we  shall  soon 
have  plenty  of  eggs,  for  I  have  been  buying  a  lot 
of  young  chickens."  There  they  were,  each  one 
with  as  many  feathers  as  a  grasshopper,  and  a 
chirp  not  louder.  Of  course,  we  looked  forward 
with  pleasant  hopes  to  the  period  when  the  first 
cackle  should  announce  the  milk-white  egg, 
warmly  deposited  in  the  hay  which  we  had  pro 
vided  bountifully.  They  grew  finely,  and  one  day 
I  ventured  to  remark  that  our  hens  had  remark 
ably  large  combs,  to  which  Mrs.  S.  replied,  "  Yes 
indeed,  she  had  observed  that;  but  if  I  wanted  to 
have  a  real  treat,  I  ought  to  get  up  early  in  the 
morning  and  hear  them  crow."  "  Crow !"  said  I, 
faintly,  "  our  liens  crowing  !  Then,  by  '  the  cock 


ADVANTAGES   OF  HAVING  A  DOG.     17 

tliat  crowed  in  the  morn,  to  wake  the  priest  all 
shaven  and  shorn,'  we  might  as  well  give  up  all 
hopes  of  having  any  eggs,"  said  I;  "for,  as  sure  as 
you  live,  Mrs.  S.,  our  hens  are  all  roosters !"  And 
so  they  were  roosters !  that  grew  up  and  fought 
with  the  neighbors'  chickens,  until  there  was  not  a 
whole  pair  of  eyes  on  either  side  of  the  fence. 

A  dog  is  a  good  thing  to  have  in  the  country.  I 
have  one  which  I  raised  from  a  pup.  He  is  a 
good,  stout  fellow,  and  a  hearty  barker  and  feeder. 
The  man  of  whom  I  bought  him  said  he  was 
thorough-bred,  but  he  begins  to  have  a  mongrel 
look  about  him.  He  is  a  good  watch-dog,  though ; 
for  the  moment  he  sees  any  suspicious-looking  per 
son  about  the  premises,  he  comes  right  into  the 
kitchen  and  gets  behind  the  stove.  First  we  kept 
him  in  the  house,  and  he  scratched  all  night  to  get 
out.  Then  we  turned  him  out,  and  he  scratched 
all  night  to  get  in.  Then  we  tied  him  up  at  the 
back  of  the  garden,  and  he  howled  so  that  our 
neighbor  shot  at  him  twice  before  day-break. 
Finally,  we  gave  him  away,  and  he  came  back ; 
and  now  he  is  just  recovering  from  a  fit,  in  which 
he  has  torn  up  the .  patch  that  has  been  sown  for 
our  spring  radishes. 


18  SPAKBOWGKASS    PAPERS. 

A  good,  strong  gate  is  a  necessary  article  for 
your  garden.  A  good,  strong,  heavy  gate,  with  a 
a  dislocated  hinge,  so  that  it  will  neither  open  nor 
shut.  Such  an  one  have  I.  The  grounds  before 
my  fence  are  in  common,  and  all  the  neighbors' 
cows  pasture  there.  I  remarked  to  Mrs.  S.,  as  we 
stood  at  the  window  in  a  June  sunset,  how  placid 
and  picturesque  the  cattle  looked,  as  they  strolled 
about,  cropping  the  green  herbage.  Next  morn 
ing,  I  found  the  innocent  creatures  in  my  garden. 
They  had  not  left  a  green  thing  in  it.  The  corn  in 
the  milk,  the  beans  on  the  poles,  the  young  cab 
bages,  the  tender  lettuce,  even  the  thriving  shoots 
on  my  young  fruit-trees  had  vanished.  And  there 
they  were,  looking  quietly  on  the  ruin  they  had 
made.  Our  watch-dog,  too,  was  foregathering  with 
them.  It  was  too  much,  so  I  got  a  large  stick  and 
drove  them  all  out,  except  a  young  heifer,  whom  I 
chased  all  over  the  flower-beds,  breaking  down  my 
trellises,  my  woodbines  and  sweet-briers,  my  roses 
and  petunias,  until  I  cornered  her  in  the  hot-bed. 
I  had  to  call  for  assistance  to  extricate  her  from 
the  sashes,  and  her  owner  has  sued  me  for  damages. 
I  believe  I  shall  move  in  town. 


S  I>  li  I  N  G     B  I  K  D  S  .  19 


CHAPTER     II. 

Ve  conclude  to  give  the  Country  another  Year's  Trial— Spring  Birds— Mr. 
Sparrowgrass  becomes  the  Owner  of  a  Boat — A  Visit  from  a  Friend— First 
Experience  with  a  Fish-net — An  Irishman  in  a  Fyke — Exchange  of  Civilities 
and  Cucumbers— Bate's  Cow,  and  a  Hint  to  Horticulturists — Local  Designa 
tions. 

MRS.  SPAKKOWGKASS  and  I  have  concluded  to  try 
it  once  more :  we  are  going  to  give  the  country 
another  chance.  After  all,  birds  in  the  spring  are 
lovely.  First,  come  little  snow  birds,  avant-cour- 
riers  of  the  feathered  army ;  then,  blue-birds,  in 
national  uniforms,  just  graduated,  perhaps,  from 
the  ornithological  corps  of  cadets,  with  high  honors 
in  the  topographical  class ;  then  follows  a  detach 
ment  of  flying  artillery — swallows ;  sand-martens, 
sappers,  and  miners,  begin  their  mines  and  coun 
termines  under  the  sandy  parapets ;  then  cedar 
birds,  in  trim  jackets  faced  with  yellow — aha, 
dragoons !  And  then  the  great  rank  and  file  of 
infantry,  robins,  wrens,  sparrows,  chipping-birds ; 
and  lastlv — the  band  ! 


20  SPAREOWGKASS    PAPERS. 

"  From  nature's  old  cathedral  sweetly  ring 
The  wild  bird  choirs — burst  of  the  woodland  band, 

— who  mid  the  blossoms  sing  ; 
Their  leafy  temple,  gloomy,  tall,  and  grand, 
Pillared  with  oaks,  and  roofed  with  Heaven's  own  hand." 

There,  there,  that  is  Mario.  Hear  that  magnifi 
cent  chest  note  from  the  chesnuts !  then  a  cres 
cendo,  falling  in  silence — a-plorrib! 

Hush  !  he  begins  again  with  a  low,  liquid 
monotone,  mounting  by  degrees  and  swelling 
into  an  infinitude  of  melody — the  whole  grove 
dilating,  as  it  were,  with  the  exquisite  epithala- 
mium. 

Silence  now — and  how  still ! 

Hush !  the  musical  monologue  begins  anew ;  up, 
up,  into  the  tree-tops  it  mounts,  fairly  lifting 
the  leaves  with  its  passionate  effluence,  it  trills 
through  the  upper  branches — and  then  dripping 
down  the  listening  foliage,  in  a  cadenza  of  match 
less  beauty,  subsides  into  silence  again. 

"  That 's  a  he  cat-bird,"  says  my  carpenter. 

A  cat-bird  ?  Then  Shakespeare  and  Shelly  have 
wasted  powder  upon  the  sky-lark ;  for  never  such 
"profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art"  issued 
from  living  bird  before.  Sky-lark!-  pooh!  who 


OUK    QUAKEK   FKIEND.  21 

would  rise  at  dawn  to  hear  the  sky-lark,  if  a  cat 
bird  were  about,  after  breakfast  ? 

I  have  bought  me  a  boat.  A  boat  is  a  good  thing 
to  have  in  the  country,  especially  if  there  be  any 
water  near.  There  is  a  fine  beach  in  front  of  my 
house.  "When  visitors  come,  I  usually  propose  to 
give  them  a  row.  I  go  down — and  find  the  boat 
full  of  water ;  then  I  send  to  the  house  for  a  dip 
per  ;  and  prepare  to  bail ;  and,  what  with  bailing 
and  swabbing  her  with  a  mop,  and  plugging  up 
the  cracks  in  her  sides,  and  struggling  to  get  the 
rudder  in  its  place,  and  unlocking  the  rusty  pad 
lock,  my  strength  is  so  much  exhausted  that  it  is 
almost  impossible  for  me  to  handle  the  oars.  Mean 
while,  the  poor  guests  sit  on  stones  around  the  beach, 
with  woe-begone  faces.  "My  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass,  "  why  don't  you  sell  that  boat  ?" 

"Sell  it?  ha!  ha!" 

One  day,  a  Quaker  lady  from  Philadelphia  paid 
us  a  visit.  She  was  uncommonly  dignified,  and 
walked  down  to  the  water  in  the  most  stately 
manner,  as  is  customary  with  Friends.  It  was 
just  twilight,  deepening  into  darkness,  when  I  set 
about  preparing  the  boat.  Meanwhile  our  Friend 
seated  herself  upon  something  on  the  beach.  While 


22  SPARROW GKASS    PAPERS. 

I  was  engaged  in  bailing,  the  wind  shifted,  and  I 
became  sensible  of  an  unpleasant  odor ;  afraid  that 
our  Friend  would  perceive  it  too,  I  whispered  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass  to  coax  her  off,  and  get  her  further 
up  the  beach. 

"Thank  thee,  no,  Susan,  I  feel  a  smell  hereabout, 
and  I  am  better  where  I  am." 

Mrs.  S.  came  back,  and  wrhispered  mysteriously, 
that  our  Friend  was  sitting  on  a  dead  dog,  at  which 
I  redoubled  the  bailing,  and  got  her  out  in  deep 
water  as  soon  as  possible. 

Dogs  have  a  remarkable  scent.  A  dead  setter 
one  morning  found  his  way  to  our  beach,  and  I 
towed  him  out  in  the  middle  of  the  river ;  but  the 
faithful  creature  came  back  in  less  than  an  hour — • 
that  dog's  smell  was  remarkable,  indeed. 

I  have  bought  me  a  fyke !  A  fyke  is  a  go»d 
ihing  to  have  in  the  country.  A  fyke  is  a  fish-net, 
with  long  wings  on  each  side  ;  in  shape  like  a 
night-cap  with  ear-lappets;  in  mechanism  like  a 
rat-trap.  You  put  a  stake  at  the  tip  end  of  the 
night-cap,  a  stake  at  each  end  of  the  outspread 
lappets ;  there  are  large  hoops  to  keep  the  night 
cap  distended,  sinkers  to  keep  the  lower  sides-  of 
the  lappets  under  water,  and  floats,  as  large  as 


FIKST  EXPERIENCE   WITH   A  FYKE.     23 

musk-melons,  to  keep  the  upper  sides  above  the 
water.  The  stupid  fish  come  down  stream,  and 
rubbing  their  noses  against  the  wings,  follow  the 
curve  towards  the  fyke,  and  swim  into  the  trap. 
When  they  get  in  they  cannot  get  out.  That  is 
the  philosophy  of  a  fyke.  I  bought  one  of  Conroy. 
"  Now,"  said  I  to  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  "  we  shall 
have  fresh  fish,  to-morrowT,  for  breakfast;"  and 
went  out  to  set  it.  I  drove  the  stakes  in  the  mud, 
spread  the  fyke  in  the  boat,  tied  the  end  of  one 
wing  to  the  stake,  and  cast  the  whole  into  the 
water.  The  tide  carried  it  out  in  a  straight  line. 
I  got  the  loose  end  fastened  to  the  boat,  and  found 
it  impossible  to  row  back  against  the  tide  with  the 
fyke.  I  then  untied  it,  and  it  went  down  stream, 
stake  and  all.  I  got  it  into  the  boat,  rowed  up.  and 
set  the  stake  again.  Then  I  tied  one  end,  to  the 
stake,  and  got  out  of  the  boat  myself,  in  shoal  water. 
Then  the  boat  got  away  in  deep  water ;  then  I  had 
to  swim  for  the  boat.  Then  I  rowed  back  and  un 
tied  the  fyke.  Then  the  fyke  got  away.  Then  I 
jumped  out  of  the  boat  to  save  the  fyke,  and  the 
boat  got  away.  "^hen  I  had  to  swim  again  after 
the  boat,  and  row  after  the  fyke,  and  finally-  was 
glad  to  get  my  net  on  dry  land,  where  I  left  it  for 


24:  SPAKKOWGRASS   PAPERS. 

a  week  in  the  sun.  Then  I  hired  a  man  to  set  it, 
and  he  did  ;  but  he  said  it  was  "  rotted."  Never 
theless,  in  it  I  caught  two  small  flounders  and  an 
eel.  At  last,  a  brace  of  Irishmen  came  down  to 
my  beach  for  a  swim,  at  high  tide.  One  of  them, 
a  stout,  athletic  fellow,  after  performing  sundry 
aquatic  gymnastics,  dived  under  and  disappeared 
for  a  fearful  length  of  time.  The  truth  is,  he  had 
dived  into  my  net.  After  much  turmoil  in  the 
water,  he  rose  to  the  surface  with  the  filaments 
hanging  over  his  head,  and  cried  out,  as  if  he  had 
found  a  bird's  nest :  "  I  say,  Jimmy !  be  gorra 
here's  a  foike?"  That  unfeeling  exclamation  to 
Jimmy,  who  was  not  the  owner  of  the  net,  made 
me  almost  wish  that  it  had  not  been  "  rotted." 

"We  are  worried  about  our  cucumbers.  Mrs.  S. 
is  fond  of  cucumbers,  so  I  planted  enough  for  ten 
families.  The  more  they  are  picked,  the  faster  they 
grow;  and  if  you  do  not  pick  them,  they  turn 
yellow,  and  look  ugly.  Our  neighbor  has  plenty, 
too.  He  sent  us  some  one  morning,  by  way  of  a 
present.  What  to  do  with  them  we  did  not  know, 
with  so  many  of  our  own.  To  give  them  away  was 
not  polite  ;  to  throw  them  away  was  sinful ;  to  eat 
them  was  impossible.  Mrs.  S.  said,  "  Save  them 


M  K  .    B  A  T  K  s '  s    Cows.  25 

them  for  seed."  So  we  did.  N"ext  day,  our  neigh 
bor  sent  us  a  dozen  more.  We  thanked  the  mes 
senger  grimly,  and  took  them  in.  Next  morning, 
another  dozen  came.  It  was  getting  to  be  a  serious 
matter;  so  I  rose  betimes  the  following  morning,  and 
when  my  neighbor's  cucumbers  came,  I  filled  his 
man's  basket  with  some  of  my  own,  by  way  of 
exchange.  This  bit  of  pleasantry  was  resented  by 
my  neighbor,  who  told  his  man  to  throw  them  to 
the  hogs.  His  man  told  our  girl,  and  our  girl  told 
Mrs.  S.,  and,  in  consequence,  all  intimacy  between 
the  two  families  has  ceased ;  the  ladies  do  not 
speak  even,  at  church. 

We  have  another  neighbor,  whose  name  is 
Bates ;  he  keeps  cows.  This  year  our  gate  has 
been  fixed ;  but  my  young  peach-trees,  near  the 
fences,  are  accessible  from  the  road ;  and  Bates's 
co\vs  walk  along  that  road,  morning  and  evening. 
The  sound  of  a  cow  bell  is  pleasant  in  the  twilight. 
Sometimes,  after  dark,  we  hear  the  mysterious  cur 
few  tolling  along  the  road,  and  then,  with  a  louder 
peal,  it  stops  before  our  fence,  and  again  tolls  itself 
off  in  the  distance.  The  result  is,  my  peach-trees 
are  as  bare  as  bean-poles.  One  day,  I  saw  Mr. 
Bates  walking  along,  and  I  hailed  him :  "  Bates, 


26  SPARROW  GRASS    PAPERS. 

those  are  your  cows  there,  I  believe."  "Yes,  sir — • 
nice  ones,  ain't  they  ?"  "  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  they 
are  nice  ones.  Do  you  see  that  tree  there?" — and 
I  pointed  to  a  thrifty  peach,  with  about  as  many 
leaves  as  an  exploded  sky-rocket.  "Yes,  sir." 
""Well,  Bates,  that  red-and-white  cow  of  yours, 
yonder,  ate  the  top  off  that  tree  :  I  saw  her  do  it." 
Then  I  thought  I  had  made  Bates  ashamed  of 
himself,  and  had  wounded  his  feelings,  perhaps  too 
much.  I  was  afraid  he  would  offer  me  money  for 
the  tree,  which  I  made  up  my  mind  to  decline,  at 
once.  " Sparrowgrass,"  said  he,  "it  don't  hurt  a 
tree  a  single  mossel  to  chaw  it,  ef  it's  a  young 
tree.  For  my  part,  I'd  rather  have  my  young 
trees  chawed  than  not.  I  think  it  makes  'em  grow 
a  leetle  better.  I  can't  do  it  with  mine,  but  you 
can,  because  you  can  wait  to  have  good  trees,  and 
the  only  way  to  have  good  trees  is  to  have  'em 
chawed." 

I  think  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  is  much  improved  by 
living  in  the  country.  The  air  has  done  her  good. 
The  roses  again  bloom  in  her  cheeks,  as  well  as 
freckles,  big  as  butter-cups.  When  I  come  home 
in  the  evening  from  town,  and  see  her  with  a  dress 
of  white  dimity,  set  off  by  a  dark  silk  apron,  with 


"WHAT    AM    I?"  27 

tasteful  pockets,  and  a  little  fly.-away  cap,  on  the 
back  of  her  head,  she  does  look  bewitching.  "  My 
dear,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  one  evening,  at  tea, 
"what  am  I?" 

The  question  took  me  at  an  unguarded  moment, 
and  I  almost  answered,  "A  beauty;"  but  we  had 
company,  so  I  said,  with  a  blush,  "A  female,  I 
believe." 

"  ISTonsense,"  she  replied,  with  a  toss  of  the 
"know-nothing"  cap;  "nonsense;  I  mean  this: — 
when  I  was  in  Philadelphia,  I  was  a  Philadel- 
phian ;  when  in  New  York,  a  New-Yorker ;  now 
we  live  in  Yonkers,  and  what  am  I?" 

"  That,"  said  I,  "  is  a  question  more  easily  asked 
than  answered.  Now,  '•YonkerJ  in  its  primary 
significance,  means  the  eldest  son,  the  heir  of  tho 
estate,  and  '  Yonker's '  is  used  in  the  possessive 
sense,  meaning  '  the  Yonker's,'  or  the  heir's  estate. 
If,  for  instance,  you  were  the  owner  of  the  town, 
you  might,  with  propriety,  be  called  the  Yon- 
keress." 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  she  would  as  soon  be 
called  a  tigress ! 

"Take,"  said  I,  "the  names  of  the  places  on  the 
Hudson,  and  your  sex  makes  no  difference  in 


28  SPARROW  GRASS    PAPERS. 

regard  to  the  designation  you  would  derive  from  a 
locality.  If,  for  instance,  you  lived  at  Spuyten 
Devil,  you  would  be  called  a  Spuyten-Deviller !" 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  nothing  would  tempt  her 
to  live  at  Spuyten  Devil. 

"  Then,"  I  continued,  "  there  is  Tillietudlem — 
you'd  be  a  Tillietudlemer." 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said,  that,  in  her  present 
frame  of  mind,  she  didn't  think  she  would  submit 
to  it. 

"  At  Sing  Sing,  you  would  be  a  Sing-Singer ;  at 
Sleepy  Hollow,  a  Sleepy  Hollower." 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  this  was  worse  than  any 
of  the  others. 

"At  Nyack,  a  Nyackian  ;  at  Dobb's  Ferry,  a 
Dobb's  Ferryer." 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  that  any  person  who 
would  call  her  a  "  Dobb's  Ferryer,"  was  destitute 
of  a  proper  sense  of  respect. 

"  You  might  be  a  "Weehawkite,  a  Carmansvillan, 
a  Tubby  Hooker.  "— 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  quite  warm  and  indignant, 
denied  it. 

"A  Tarrytownian — a  Riverdalean." 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  she  thought  a  village  on 


A    QUESTION   FOE   SAVANS.          29 

the  tip-top  of  a  hill  could  not  be  called  River-dale 
with  any  show  of  reason. 

"  A  Simpson's  Pointer — a  Fordhammer." 

"A  what?" 

"  A  Fordhammer." 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  she  thought,  at  first,  I 
was  getting  profane.  "  But,"  she  added,  "  you  do 
not  answer  my  question.  I  live  at  Yonkers,  and 
what  am  I?" 

"That,"  said  I,  "Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  is  a  ques 
tion  I  cannot  answer,  but  I  will  make  it  a  public 
matter  through  these  pages." 

"What  is  the  proper,  local,  or  geographical 
appellation  by  which  an  inhabitant  of  Yonkers 
should  be  known  ?" 


30  SPARROW GRASS    FAPESP. 


CHAPTER    III. 

The  Clouds  in  the  Country— A  Thunder-Shower — Mr.  Sparrowgrass  buys  a 
Bugle — Ineffectual  Music— A  Serenade  and  an  Interruption — First  Fruits — A 
Surprise,  and  the  Entire  Loss  of  our  Che#ry  Crop. 

MRS.  SPARROWGRASS  says  that  summer  sketches 
should  not  come  out  in  the  winter.  She  thinks 
what  was  written  in  June  is  not  fit  to  be  read  in 
December,  and  a  paper  made  in  July  is  out  of 
season  in  January.  "  The  one  you  are  putting  in 
your  overcoat  pocket,  now,"  she  says,  "  was  writ 
ten  last  August,  and  I  know  it."  At  first,  I  was  as 
much  confused  as  if  I  had  been  caught  in  some 
flagrant  act  of  impropriety,  but  I  rallied  a  little, 
for  a  lucky  thought  struck  me.  "  Mrs.  Sparrow- 
grass,"  said  I,  "  I  will  put  the  August  paper  in 
print,  now;  but,  at  the  same  time,  request  them 
not  to  read  it  until  warm  weather."  This  admira 
ble  and  original  piece  of  finesse  pleased  my  wife 
highly.  "That  will  do,"  she  said,  "but  do  not 
forget  to  tell  them  not  to  read  it  until  then."  So 


CLOUDS    IN    THE    COUNTRY.          31 

now,  good  reader,  when  you  have  reached  this 
point,  fold  up  the  leaf,  and  do  not  open  it  until 
Sirius  is  in  the  noon-day  sky. 

We  begin  to  enjoy  the  clouds  since  we  have 
moved  out  of  town.  The  city  sky  is  all  strips  and 
patches ;  but  the  sky  of  the  country  forms  a  very 
comfortable  whole.  Then,  you  have  the  horizon, 
of  which  you  get  but  an  imperfect  idea  if  you  live 
in  a  crooked  street ;  and  besides,  you  can  see 
distant  rain  storms  passing  over  far-off  landscapes, 
and  as  the  light-winged  breeze  comes  sweeping  up 
and  you  feel  the  approaching  dampness,  there  is  a 
freshness  and  fragrance  in  it  which  is  not  at  all  like 
the  miasmatic  exhalations  of  a  great  city.  Then, 
when  the  rain  does  come  it  is  not  simply  an  incon 
venience,  as  it  always  is  in  town,  but  a  real 
blessing,  which  even  the  stupid  old  cabbages  know 
enough  to  enjoy.  I  think  our  musk-melons  feel 
better  now,  as  they  lie  there  in  sandy  beds  sucking 
the  delicious  fluid  through  their  long  vinous  tubes. 
I  think  our  Shaker  corn,  as  he  gives  himself  a 
rousing  shake,  and  flings  the  big  drops  around  him, 
does  so  with  a  species  of  boisterous  joy,  as  if  he 
could  not  have  too  much  of  it ;  and  Monsieur 
Tomate,  who  is  capering  like  Humpty  Dumpty  on 


32  SPARROWGRASS   PAPERS. 

the  wall,  is  evidently  in  high  feather,  which  is  not 
the  case  with  our  forlorn  rooster,  who  is  but  poorly 

protected  under  the  old  basket,  yonder.     The  rain 

/ 

came  from  the  southwest.  "We  saw  the  clouds 
rolling  up  over  the  Palisades  in  round  masses,  with 
a  movement  like  puffs  of  smoke  rolling  up  from  the 
guns  of  a  frigate.  It  was  a  dead  calm ;  not  a 
pensile  leaf  twinkled ;  the  flat  expanse  of  the 
river  was  without  a  ripple.  "We  saw  the  con 
glomerated  volumes  of  snow-white  vapor  ascending 
to  the  zenith,  and  below  lay  the  Hudson,  roughening 
in  the  now  audibly  approaching  breeze.  Mean 
while  the  sky  grew  ashy  pale  in  the  southwest,  and 
the  big  clouds  overhead  were  sometimes  veined 
with  lightning,  which  was  reflected  momently  by 
the  darkening  water.  Just  below  us  we  heard 
the  quick  rattle  of  the  rings,  as  the  wood  sloops 
dropped  and  reefed  their  broad  sails  in  anticipation 
of  the  squall.  Everything  around  us  reposed  in  a 
sort  of  supernatural  twilight,  the  grass  turned  grey 
and  old,  the  tree  trunks  changed  to  iron,  the  air 
seemed  denser,  sullener,  sultrier.  Then  a  little 
breeze  prattled  through  the  chestnuts,  and  whitened 
the  poplars.  Then  it  subsided.  Then  the  white 
cloud  above  appeared  a  tangle  of  dazzling  light, 


A   THUNDER-SHOWER.  33 

and  a  sharp  fusilade  followed  on  the  instant.  Then 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  got  frightened,  and  said  she 
must  go  in,  and  as  she  said  so,  the  wind  pounced 
upon  her  and  carried  up  her  sunbonnet  at  least 
three  hundred  feet  above  tide  water.  Then  it 
slammed  to  every  door  in  the  house,  prostrated  my 
Lima  beans,  howled  down  the  chimney,  roared  and 
whistled  through  the  trees,  tore  the  dust  from  the 
roads,  and  poured  it  through  our  open  windows, 
hurried  off  the  big  gate,  laid  it  on  my  pie-plants, 
blew  down  my'beehive,  liberated  all  my  bees,  who 
instantly  settled  upon  our  watch  dog  and  stung 
him  so  that  he  ran  away  and  did  not  return  until 
the  following  Sunday. 

Nevertheless,  the  scenery  around  was  marvel 
lously  beautiful.  South  of  us  a  grey  rain-curtain 
was  drawn  across  the  river,  shutting  out  every 
thing  beyond,  except  the  spectral  masts  and  spars 
of  a  schooner  riding  at  anchor.  The  Palisades 
started  up  in  the  gloom,  as  their  precipitous  masses 
were  revealed  by  the  flashes  of  unearthly  light  that 
played  through  the  rolling  clouds.  The  river  beforo 
us,  necked  with  snow,  stretched  away  to  the  north, 
where  it  lay  partly  in  sunshine,  under  a  blue  sky, 
dappled  with  fleecy  vapors.  Inland,  the  trees  were 

2* 


34:  SPAKROWGRACS    PAPERS. 

twisted  in  attitudes  strikingly  picturesque  and 
novel;  the  scud  flew  before  the  blast  like  spray, 
and  below  it  the  swells  and  slopes  of  livid  green 
had  an  aspect  so  unusual  that  it  seemed  as  if  I  had 
been  transported  into  a  strange  place — a  far 
countrie.  Our  cottage,  too,  which  I  had  planned 
and  built,  changed  its  tinted  walls  to  stark,  staring 
white,  with  window-panes  black  as  ink.  From 
room  to  room  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  flitted  like  a 
phantom,  closing  the  sashes,  and  making  all  secure. 
Then  the  electric  prattled  overhead  for  a  moment, 
and  wound  up  with  a  roar  like  the  explosion  of  a 
stone  quarry.  Then  a  big  drop  fell  and  rolled 
itself  up  in  a  globule  of  dust  in  the  path  ;  then 
another — another — another.  Then  I  bethought  me 
of  my  new  straw  hat,  and  retreated  into  the  house, 
and  then — it  rained  ! 

Reader,  did  you  ever  see  rain  in  the  country? 
I  hope  you  have;  my  pen  is  impotent;  I  cannot 
describe  it.  The  storm  hushed  by  degrees,  and 
went  off  amid  saffron  flushes,  and  a  glitter  of  hail. 
The  western  sky  parted  its  ashy  curtains,  and  the 
rugged  Palisades  lay  warm  and  beautiful  under 
the  evening  sun.  Now  the  sun  sinks  amid  melted 
topaz  and  rubies ;  and  above  it,  on  one  side, 


A   MUSICAL    A  D  v  K  N  T  u  K  E  .  35 

stretching  aloft  from  the  rocky  precipices  high  up 
in  the  azure,  is  a  crescent  of  crimson  and  golden 
fragments  of  clouds !  Once  more  in  the  sunlight, 
and  so  we  will  throw  open  all  the  windows  and  let 
in  the  cool  air. 

The  splendor  fulls  on  castle  walls, 

And  snowy  summits  old  in  story  ; 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes, 

And  the  wild  cataract  breaks  in  glory. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow  !  set  the  wild  echoes  flying  ! 
Blow,  bugle  !  answer  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying  ! 

I  have  bought  me  a  bugle.  A  bugle  is  a  good 
thing  to  have  in  the  country.  The  man  of  whom  I 
bought  it  said  it  had  an  easy  draught,  so  that  a 
child  could  fill  it.  He  asked  me  if  I  would  try  it. 
I  told  him  I  would  prefer  not,  as  my  wind  was  not 
in  order ;  but  that  when  I  got  out  in  my  boat,  the 
instrument  should  be  critically  tested.  When  I 
reached  home,  I  could  scarcely  finish  my  tea  on 
account  of  my  bugle.  The  bugle  was  a  secret.  I 
meant  to  surprise  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass.  Play,  I 
could  not,  but  I  would  row  off  in  the  river,  and 
blow  a  prolonged  note  softly ;  increasing  it  until  it 
thrilled  across  the  night  like  the  dolorous  trumpet 
of  Roland,  at  the  rout  of  Eoncevalles.  I  slipped 


'•>6  SPAKKOW GRASS     P  A  P  E  K  S  . 

away,  took  the  hidden  instrument  from  the  bushes, 
handled  the  sculls,  and  soon  put  five  hundred  feet 
of  brine  between  me  and  the  cottage.  Then  I  un 
wrapped  the  brown  paper,  and  lifted  the  copper 
clarion  to  my  lips.  I  blew  until  I  thought  my 
head  would  burst,  and  could  not  raise  a  toot.  I 
drew  a  long  breath,  expanded  my  lungs  to  the 
utmost,  and  blew  my  eyes  almost  out  of  their 
sockets,  but  nothing  came  of  it,  saving  a  harsh, 
brassy  note,  within  the  metallic  labyrinth.  Then  I 
attempted  the  persuasive,  and  finally  cajoled  a  faint 
rhythmic  souncl  from  it  that  would  have  been  inau 
dible  at  pistol-shot  distance.  But  this  was  encour 
aging — I  had  gotten  the  hang  of  it.  Little  by  little  I 
succeeded,  and  at  last  articulated  a  melancholy  B 
flat,  whereupon  I  looked  over  at  the  cottage.  It 
was  not  there — the  boat  had  drifted  down  stream, 
two  miles  at  least ;  so  I  had  to  tug  up  against  the 
tide  until  I  nearly  reached  home,  when  I  took  the 
precaution  of  dropping  an  anchor  to  windward, 
and  once  more  exalted  my  horn.  Obstinacy  is  a 
Sparrowgrassic  virtue.  My  upper-lip,  under  the 
tuition  of  the  mouth-piece,  had  puffed  out  into  the 
worst  kind  of  a  blister,  yet  still  I  persevered.  I 
mastered  three  notes  of  the  gamut,  and  then  pulled 


Music    UNA  p  i>  it  K  o  i  A  T  E  D  .  37 

for  the  front  of  the  cottage.  Now,  said  I,  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass,  look  out  for  an  unexpected  serenade. 
"  Gnar-ty,  Gnar-rra-raa-poo-poo-poop-en-aiT-ty ! 
Poo-poo-ta !  Poo-poo-ta  !  Poo-poo-ta-rra-noop-en 
taa-ty !  Poopen  te  noopan  ta  ta !  ?np !  'np  !  Graa- 
too-pen-tar-poopen-en-arrty !" 

"  Who  is  making  that  infernal  noise  ?"  said  a 
voice  on  the  shore. 

"  Rrra-ty  !  'traa-tar-poopen-tarty  f" 

"  Get  out  with  you  !"  and  a  big  stone  fell  splash 
in  the  water.  This  was  too  much  to  bear  on  my 
own  premises,  so  I  rowed  up  to  the  beach  to  punish 
the  offender,  whom  I  found  to  be  my  neighbor. 

"  Oh,  ho,"  said  he.  "  was  that  you,  Sparrow- 
grass  ?" 

I  said  it  was  me,  and  added,  "  You  don't  seem  to 
be  fond  of  music  ?" 

He  said,  not  as  a  general  thing,  but  he  thought 
a  tune  on  the  fiddle,  now  and  then,  wasn't  bad  to 
take. 

I  answered,  that  the  relative  merit  of  stringed  and 
wind  instruments  had  never  been  exactly  settled, 
but  if  he  preferred  the  former,  he  rnight  stay  at 
home  and  enjoy  it,  which  would  be  better  than 
intruding  on  my  beach,  and  interrupting  me  when 

274501 


38  SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

I  was  practising.  With  this  I  locked  up  my  boat, 
tucked  the  bugle  under  my  arm,  and  marched  oft'. 
Our  neighbor  merely  laughed,  and  said  nothing. 

The  man  who  hath  no  music  in  himself, 

Nor  is  not  moved  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 

Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils  : 

The  motions  of  his  spirit  are  dull  as  night, 

And  his  affections  dark  as  Erebus  : 

Let  no  such  man  be  trusted." 

When  I  reached  my  domicile,  Mrs.  Spavrowgrass 
asked  me  who  that  was,  "  blowing  a  fish-horn  ?" 
I  have  in  consequence  given  up  music  as  a  source 
of  enjoyment  since  that  evening. 

Our  fruit  did  not  turn  out  well  this  season  on 
account  of  the  drought.  Our  apple  trees  blossomed 
fairly,  but  the  apples  were  stung  by  the  curculio, 
and  finished  their  growth  by  the  time  they  got  to 
look  like  dried  prunes.  I  had  the  satisfaction,  how 
ever,  of  producing  a  curious  hybrid  in  my  melon 
patch,  by  planting  squashes  in  the  next  bed.  I  do 
not  know  which  to  admire  most — the  influence  of 
the  melon  on  the  squash,  or  the  influence  of  the 
squash  on  the  melon.  Planted  side  by  side,  you 
can  scarcely  tell  one  from  the  other,  except  from 


OUR     CHERRY.  39 

appearance ;  but  if  you  ever  do  eat  a  musk  melon 
boiled,  or  a  squash  raw,  you  will  have  some  idea 
of  this  singular  and  beautiful  phenomenon. 

On  the  Fourth  of  July  we  had  company  from 
town.  "  Dear,"  said  Mrs.  S.,  '•  have  you  seen  our 
cherry  ?"  I  answered,  that  I  had  set  out  many 
trees  of  that  kind,  and  did  not  know  which  one  she 
alluded  to  (at  the  same  time  a  hopeful  vision  of 
"cherry pie  on  the  Fourth  of  July"  flitted  across 
my  pericranics).  As  we  all  walked  out  to  see  the 
glorious  spectacle,  I  told  our  guests  aside,  the  young 
trees  were  so  luxuriant  in  foliage  that  I  had  not 
observed  what  masses  of  fruit  might  be  concealed 
underneath  the  leaves,  but  that  Mrs.  S.  had  a  pene 
trating  eye,  and  no  doubt  would  surprise  me  as  well 
as  them.  When  we  came  to  the  tree,  my  wife 
turned  around,  after  a  slight  examination,  and 
coolly  observed,  she  thought  it  was  there,  but  some 
boy  must  have  picked  it  off. 

"  Picked  it  off,"  said  I,  as  the  truth  flashed  in  my 
mind.  "  Yes,"  she  replied,  with  a  mournful  accent, 
"  picked  off  the  only  cherry  we  ever  had." 

This  was  a  surprise,  indeed,  but  not  what  I  had 
expected.  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  how  could  you 
expose  me  in  such  a  way  ?  How  could  you,  after 


40  SPARROW  GRASS     PAPERS. 

all  my  bragging  to  these  city  people  about  our  fine 
garden,  make  a  revelation  that  carried  away  the 
foundations  of  my  pride  in  one  fell  swoop  ?  How 
could  you,  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  ? 


AN    INVITATION    TO    A    PARTY.      41 


CHAPTER    IY. 

Sirs.  Sparrow-grass  discourses  of  Social  Life  in  the  Kural  Districts — Town  and 
Country — A  Rural  Party — The  Advantages  of  dressing  iu  a  Plain  Way — Our 
New  Dog — Autumnal  Scenery — A  Family  Acqueduct. 

"  WE  have  an  invitation  to  a  party,"  said  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass,  "  on  Friday  next,  and  I  think  a  party 
is  a  very  pleasant  thing  in  the  country.  There  is 
more  sociability,  more  hospitality,  warmer  wel 
comes,  less  dress,  and  less  style  than  there  is  in  the 
city."  Here  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  handed  me  an  en 
graved  card  of  rather  formidable  dimensions,  which 
I  must  confess  looked  anything  but  rural.  I  took 
the  missive  with  some  misgivings,  for  I  have  a 
natural  horror  of  parties.  "  I  wonder,"  said  I,  in 
the  most  playful  kind  of  bitter  irony,  u  whether  we 
will  meet  out  here  that  young  lady  that  never  sings 
herself,  but  is  always  so  passionately  fond  of  mu 
sic  ?"  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  she  thought  not ;  she 
said  she  heard  she  was  married. 

"  And  that  gentleman,"  I  continued,  "  who  was 


42  SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

a  stranger  to  me,  that  always  wanted  to  be  pre 
sented  to  some  young  lady  that  I/didn't  know  ?" 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  she  believed  he  had  gone 
to  California. 

"  And  that  lady  who  prized  confectionery  above 
good-breeding,  and  went  home  with  her  pockets 
well  stuffed  with  mottoes,  in  defiance  of  the  eighth 
commandment,  and  the  laws  of  propriety  ?" 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  she  knew  the  lady  to 
whom  I  alluded,  but  she  assured  me  she  was  yet  in 
]^ew  York,  and  had  not  been  seen  about  our 
village. 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  we  will  go 
to  the  party.  Put  my  best  shirt,  and  the  white 
waistcoat  in  Monday's  wash.  Never  mind  expense. 
Get  me  a  crumb  of  bread,  and  bring  me  my  old 
white  gloves.  I  am  going  to  be  gay." 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  "  that  a  party 
in  town  is  nothing  but  an  embarrassment."  "True," 
said  I.  "  Don't  you  remember,"  said  she,  "  what 
a  fuss  I  used  to  make  about  getting  my  hair  fixed, 
and  how  put  out  I  was  that  night  when  you  forgot 
the  japonica?"  "Certainly."  "  And  then,  when 
we  were  all  dressed  and  ready,  how  we  used  to 
wait  for  fear  of  getting  there  too  early,  and  after  we 


DOUBLE    E  x  T  E •  x  D  K  E  .  43 

did  reach  the  house,  how  we  always  got  in  a  corner, 
and  made  happy  wall-flowers  of  ourselves,  and  some 
old  friends."  "  Of  course  I  do."  "  Where  nobody 
took  any  notice  of  us."  "  Exactly/'  "  Then  what 
difference  did  it  make  how  I  was  dressed — whether 
I  wore  Honiton  lace  or  cotton  edging  ?"  "  I  am 
afraid,"  said  I,  "  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  if  you  had 
made  a  point  of  wearing  cotton  lace,  you  wxmld 
not  have  been  invited."  At  this  palpable  double 
entendre  I  felt  that  secret  satisfaction  which  every 
man  must  feel  when  he  has  said  a  good  thing.  It 
was  lost  upon  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass.  "  Here,"  she 
continued,  "  we  expect  a  simple,  old-fashioned 
entertainment."  Then  I  chimed  in — "  No  gas 
lights  to  make  your  eyes  ache — no  patent-leather 
to  make  your  feet  ache — no  fashionable  follies  to 
make  your  heart  ache — and  no  overheated,  ill-ven 
tilated  rooms,  boned -turkies,  game,  ice-cream,  Char 
lotte  Russe,  pate's,  champagne,  and  chicken-salad, 
to  make  your  head  ache  next  morning."  "  There 
will  be  oysters  and  ice-cream,"  said  Mrs.  Spar 
rowgrass,  dubiously.  "  I  wish,"  said  I,  "  there  was 
a  prospect  of  apples  and  cider  instead.  The  mo 
ment  I  get  inside  the  doors,  and  breathe  the  min 
gled  odors  of  oysters  and  geraniums,  it  will  carry 


44  SPARROW  GRASS    PAPERS. 

me  back  to  town,  and  for  one  evening,  at  least,  I 
shall  forget  that  we  are  living  in  the  country. 

'  I  could  be  content 

'.  o  s.'c  no  other  verdure  than  its  own  ; 
'  o  feul  no  other  breezes  than  are  blown 
Through  its  tall  woods  ;' 

but  we  must  succumb  ;  we  will  go  like  plain,  sen 
sible  people,  won't  we  ?" 

"  If  you  were  me,  what  would  you  wear  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass. 

"  Something  very  plain,  my  dear." 

"  Then,"  said  Mrs. Sparrowgrass,  "I have  nothing 
very  plain,  suitable  for  a  party,  and  to-morrow  I 
must  go  to  town  and  do  a  little  shopping." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  I  (after  the  second  day's 
hard  shopping  in  town)  "  your  dress  is  going  to  be 
too  plain,  my  dear.  Every  hour  brings  a  fresh  boy, 
with  a  fresh  bundle,  and  a  fresh  bill,  to  my  office." 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said,  "  that  if  I  thought  so,  per 
haps  she  had  better  get  something  expensive  when 
she  went  to  buy  the  trimmings."  I  told  her  I 
thought  her  dress  would  do  without  trimming.  She 
said,  "it  would  be  ridiculous  without  gimp  or  gal 
loon  ;  but  perhaps  I  would  prefer  velvet  ribbon, 


OlJRToiLETTE.  45 

on  account  of  the  flounces?"  I  told  her  she  had 
better  get  the  velvet  ribbon,  and  omit  the  gimp  and 
galloon.  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said,  "  very  well," 
and  the  next  day  another  boy  brought  another  bun 
dle,  and  another  bill,  which  convinced  me  that 
extras  form  an  important  item  in  rural  architecture. 
Then  we  had  a  dressmaker  for  several  days,  and 
the  stitching  went  on  by  sun-light  and  lamp-light, 
and  on  the  last  day  Mrs.  S.  discovered  that  she  had 
nothing  for  her  head,  and  the  new  bonnet  was  taken 
to  pieces  to  get  at  the  feathers  for  a  coiffure.  Then 
when  the  night  fell,  there  fell,  too.  a  soaking  rain ; 
and  I  had  forgotten  the  carriage,  so  I  was  obliged 
to  go  a  mile  in  the  mud  to  order  one  from  the  vil 
lage  livery  stable.  Then  I  had  to  walk  back,  as 
the  man  said  "  it  was  out ;"  but  he  promised  to 
send  it  for  us  right  straight  off.  Then  I  had  to  get 
dressed  over  again.  Then  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  could 
not  find  her  best  handkerchief,  and  I  dropped  five 
spermacetti  blotches  on  the  new  silk  dress  looking 
for  it.  Then  she  found  the  handkerchief.  Then 
our  girl  said  that  the  new  dog  had  run  off  with  one 
of  my  boots.  Then  I  had  to  go  out  in  the  mud  in 
my  slippers  after  the  dog.  Then  I  got  the  boot  and 
put  it  on  so  as  to  make  that  sure.  Then  we  waited 


46  SPAKKOW  GRASS 


for  the  carriage.  "We  were  all  dressed  and  ready, 
but  no  carriage.  We  exercised  all  the  patience  we 
could  muster,  on  account  of  the  carriage,  and  list 
ened  at  the  windows  to  see  if  we  could  hear  it. 
Two  months  have  elapsed,  and  it  hasn't  come  yet. 
"Next  day  we  heard  that  the  party  had  been  an  ele 
gant  aifair.  That  everybody  was  there,  so  we  con 
cluded  the  carriage  had  not  been  able  to  come  for 
us  on  account  of  business. 

I  have  bought  me  another  dog.  I  bought  him 
on  account  of  his  fine,  long  ears,  and  beautiful 
silky  tail.  lie  is  a  pup,  and  much  caressed  by  the 
young  ones.  One  day  he  went  off  to  the  butcher's, 
and  came  back  with  no  more  tail  than  a  toad.  The 
whole  bunch  of  young  Sparrowgrasses  began  to 
bawl  when  he  reached  the  cottage,  on  account  of 
his  tail.  I  did  not  know  him  when  I  came  home, 
and  he  could  not  recognize  me  —  he  had  lost  his 
organ  of  recognition.  He  reminded  me  of  a  dog  I 
once  heard  of,  that  looked  as  if  he  had  been  where 
they  wanted  a  tail  merely,  and  had  taken  his,  and 
thrown  the  dog  away.  Of  course  I  took  my  stick, 
and  went  to  see  the  butcher.  Butcher  said  "  he 
supposed  I  was  something  of  a  dog  fancier,  and 
would  like  to  see  my  dog  look  stylish."  I  said  on 


AUTUMNAL    MORNINGS.  47 

the  contrary,  that  I  had  bought  him  on  account  of 
his  handsome  silky  tail,  and  that  I  would  give  ten 
dollars  to  have  it  replaced.  Then  the  idea  of  hav 
ing  it  replaced  seemed  so  ludicrous  that  I  could  not 
restrain  a  smile,  and  tnen  the  butcher  caught  the 
joke,  and  said  there  was  no  way  to  do  it  except 
with  fresh  putty.  I  do  love  a  man  who  can  enjoy 
a  joke,  so  I  took  a  fancy  to  that  butcher.  When  I 
got  home  and  saw  the  dog,  I  thought  less  of  the 
butcher,  but  put  a  piece  of  black  court-plaster  on 
the  dog,  and  it  improved  his  appearance  at  once. 
So  I  forgave  the  butcher,  and  went  to  bed  at  peace 
with  all  mankind. 

I  love  to  lie  a-bed  in  these  autumnal  mornings, 
and  see  the  early  sunlight  on  those  grim  old  Pali 
sades.  A  vast  stretch  of  rock,  gaunt  and  grey,  is 
not  a  cheerful  view  from  the  south  window.  Shnt 
your  eyes  for  a  minute,  and  now  look.  That  faint 
red  cornice,  reaching  rough-cast  along  the  rugged 
tops,  ten  miles  or  more,  from  Closter  to  Tillietud- 
lum,  is  not  unpicturesque.  And  although  we  have 
not  the  odor  of  spring  lilacs  and  summer  roses, 
breathing  through  the  windows,  yet  there  is  some 
thing  not  less  delightful  to  the  senses  in  this  clear 
frosty  atmosphere.  Below,  the  many-colored  woods 


48  SPARROW  GRASS    PAPERS. 

that  burgeon  on  the  sides  seem  to  retain  the  ver 
dure  of  early  spring  in  those  cool  depths  of  shadow. 
As  the  sunlight  broadens  on  the  crags,  the  illusion 
disappears,  and  we  behold  once  more  the  brilliant 
vagaries  of  vegetation,  th%  hectic  hints  of  yester 
day.  I  wish  Kensett  could  see  that  pure  blue  sky 
and  yonder  melancholy  sloop  on  the  river,  working 
her  passage  down,  with  bricks  from  Haverstraw, 
and  a  sail  like  an  expanded  rose  leaf.  It  is  a  plea 
sant  thing  to  watch  the  river  craft  in  these  autum 
nal  mornings.  Sometimes  we  see  a  white  breasted 
covey  coming  up  in  the  distance — from  shore  to 
shore  a-spread  of  dimity.  Here  and  there  are 
troops  ofQiininjr  ones  with  warm  illuminated  wings, 
and  otheTs  creeping  along  in  shadow  with  spectral 
pinions,  like  evil  spirits.  Yonder  schooner  is  not 
an  unfair  Image  of  humanity;  beating  up  against 
adverse  winds  with  one  black  and  one  white  sail. 
That  dogged  old  craft,  just  emerging  from  obscurity 
into  sunlight,  is  but  a  type  of  some  curmudgeon 
passing  from  poverty  to  affluence,  and  there  is  an 
other,  evidently  oh  the  wrong  track,  stretching 

away  from  the  light  of  prosperity  into  the  gloom 

5 
of  misfortune.      £>lo   not  love  the   country  less 

because  of  her  teachings  by  these  simple  symbols. 


IMPROVED    AQUEDUCT.  49 

There  are  many  things  to  be  learned  from  watching 
the  old  wood-sloops  on  the  river. 

Our  neighbor  has  been  making  an  improvement 
in  his  house.  He  has  had  a  drain  made  in  the 
kitchen,  with  a  long  earthen  pipe  ending  in  a  cess 
pool  at  the  end  of  his  garden.  The  object  of  it  is 
to  carry  off  the  superfluous  water  from  the  house. 
It  was  a  great  convenience,  he  said,  "  on  wash 
days."  One  objection  might  be  urged,  and  that 
was,  after  every  heavy  rain  he  found  a  gully  in  his 
garden  path,  and  several  cart  loads  of  gravel  in  his 
cess-pool.  Besides,  the  pipe  was  of  an  equal  width, 
and  one  obstruction  led  to  another ;  sometimes  it 
was  a  silver  spoon  and  a  child's  frock  ;  sometimes 
it  was  a  scrubbing-brush,  a  piece  of  soap,  and  a 
handkerchief,  I  said  that  if  he  had  made  a  square 
wooden  trough,  gradually  widening  from  end  to 
end,  it  would  have  cleared  itself,  and  then  I  thought 
it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  me  to  have  such  a  one 
myself.  Then  I  had  a  cess-pool  built  at  the  bot 
tom  of  the  wall,  under  the  bank,  which  is  about 
one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  from  the  kitchen,  and 
told  my  carpenter  to  make  a  trough  of  that  length. 
Carpenter  asked  me  "  how  big  I  wanted  it  ?"  I 
told  him  about  eight  inches  in  diameter  at  the  end 


50  SPARROW  GRASS    PAPERS. 

nearest  to  the  house,  and  then  gradually  widening 
all  the  way  for  the  whole  length.  As  I  said  this, 
my  carpenter  smiled,  and  said  he  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing.  I  told  him  no,  that  the  idea  was  an 
original  one  of  my  own.  He  asked  me  how  much 
I  would  like  to  have  it  widened.  I  thought  for  a 
moment,  and  said,  "  about  half  an  inch  to  the  foot." 
He  said  very  well,  and  the  next  week  he  came  with 
two  horses,  and  an  edifice  in  his  cart  that  looked 
like  a  truncated  shot-tower.  I  asked  him  what  that 
was  ?  Pie  said  it  was  the  big  end  of  my  pipe. 
When  he  laid  it  on  the  ground  on  its  side  I  walked 
through  it,  and  could  not  touch  the  upper  side 
with  my  hand.  Then  I  asked  the  carpenter  what 
he  meant  by  it,  and  he  said  it  was  made  according 
to  directions.  I  said  not  at  all,  that  I  told  him  to 
increase  the  diameter  at  the  rate  of  half  an  inch  to 
the  foot,  and  he  had  made  it  about  a  foot  to  the 
foot,  as  near  as  I  could  judge.  "  Sparrowgrass," 
said  he,  a  little  nettled,  "jest  take  your  pencil  and 
put  down  eight  inches."  "  Well,  that's  the  diame 
ter  of  the  small  end,  I  believe  ?"  I  told  the  car 
penter  he  was  right  so  far.  "  Now,  for  every  foot 
there  is  an  increase  of  half  an  inch  in  the  width , 
that's  according  to  directions,  too,  ain't  it  ?"  Yes. 


AN    ORIGINAL    IDEA.  51 

"  Well,  then,  put  down  one  hundred  and  fifty  half 
inches,  how  much  does  that  make,  altogether,  in 
feet  ?"  Six  feet  eleven  inches.  "  Now,"  said  he, 
"jest  you  take  my  rule,  and  measure  the  big  end 
of  that  're  pipe."  "  Carpenter,"  said  I,  "  I  see  it 
all ;  but  the  next  time  I  build  an  aqueduct  I  will 
be  a  little  more  careful  in  the  figures."  "  Spar- 
rowgrass,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  pipe,  "  didn't 
you  tell  me  that  that  was  an  original  idea  of  your 
own  ?"  I  answered  that  I  believed  I  did  make  a 
remark  of  that  kind.  "  Well,"  said  he,  with  a  sort 
of  muffled  laugh,  "  that  is  the  first  time  that  I  see 
an  original  idea  come  out  at  the  big  end." 


52  SPARROW  GRASS   PAPERS. 


CHAPTER    V. 

I 

Children  in  Town  and  Country— A  Mistake  about  a  Lady— The  Menagerie — 
Amusement  for  Children— Winter  Scenery— Another  Amusement  for  Children 
— Sucker  Fishing — General  Washington. 

IT  is  a  good  thing  to  have  children  in  the  coun 
try.  Children  in  the  country  are  regular  old-fash 
ioned  boys  and  girls,  not  pocket  editions  of  men  and 
women  as  they  are  in  town.  In  the  metropolis 
there  is  no  representation  of  our  species  in  the  tad 
pole  state.  The  word  "  lad  "  has  become  obsolete. 
Fast  young  men  and  fast  young  women  repudiate 
the  existence  of  that  respectable,  antique  institution, 
childhood.  It  is  different  in  the  country.  My 
eldest  does  not  call  me  "  Governor,"  but  simply 
"Father;"  and  although  in  his  ninth  year,  still 
treats  his  mother  with  some  show  of  respect. 

Our  next  boy  (turned  seven)  has  prematurely 
given  up  smoking  ratan ;  and  our  four-year-old 
girl  is  destitute  both  of  affectation  and  dyspepsia. 
As  for  the  present  baby,  his  character  is  not  yet 


TOWN    AND    COUNTRY.  53 

fully  developed,  but  having  observed  no  symptoms 
of  incipient  depravity  in  him  up  to  this  time,  we 
begin  to  believe  the  country  is  a  good  place  for 
children.  One  thing  about  it  is  certain,  children 
in  the  country  get  an  immense  deal  of  open-air- 
trainiag  that  is  utterly  impracticable  in  town.  A 
boy  or  girl,  brought  up  *  under  glass"  (to  use  a 
horticultural  phrase)  is  apt  to  "blow"  prematurely; 
but,  although  it  is  rather  rough  culture,  still  I 
think  the  influence  of  rocks,  rivers,  leaves,  trees, 
buds,  blossoms,  birds,  fresh  air,  and  blue  sky,  bet 
ter,  for  the  undeveloped  mind  of  a  child,  than 
that  of  a  French  nurse,  no  matter  how  experienced 
she  may  be.  /think  so,  and  so  does  Mrs.  Sparrow- 
grass. 

There  is  one  thing,  however,  that  is  mortifying 
about  it.  When  our  friends  come  up  from  town 
with  their  young  ones,  our  boys  and  girl  look  so  fat 
and  gross  beside  them,  that  we  have  to  blush  at  the 
visible  contrast.  Mrs.  Peppergrass,  our  respected 
relative,  brought  up  her  little  girl  the  other  day,  a 
perfect  French  rainbow  so  far  as  dress  went,  and 
there  they  sat — the  petite,  pale  Parisienne  of  four 
years,  and  the  broad  chested,  chubby,  red-cheeked 
rustic  of  the  same  age,  with  a  frock  only  diversified 


54  SPARROW GRASS    PAPERS. 

by  the  holes  scratched  in  it,  and  a  clean  dimity 
apron  just  put  on,  with  a  gorget  of  fruit  marks  on 
the  breast  that  spoke  plainly  of  last  summer — there 
they  sat,  side  by  side,  cousins  both,  and  who  would 
have  known  it.  "  My  dear,"  said  I,  to  Mrs.  Spar- 
rowgrass,  after  our  respected  relative  had  departed, 
"  did  you  observe  the  difference  between  those  chil 
dren  ?  one  was  a  perfect  little  lady,  and  the  other" — 
"  Yes,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  "  I  did  ; 
and  if  I  had  had  a  child  behave  in  that  way,  I 
would  be  ashamed  to  go  anywhere.  That  child  did 
nothing  but  fret,  and  tease  her  mother  for  cake, 
from  the  time  she  came  into  the  house  till  she  went 
out  of  it.  Yes,  indeed,  our  Louise  was,  as  you  say, 
a  real  little  lady  beside  her." 

Finding  I  had  been  misunderstood,  I  kept  silent. 
I  do  not  know  anything  so  sure  to  prevent  contro 
versy  as  silence — especially  in  the  country. 

"Speech  is  silver,  silence  is  golden." 

There  is  one  institution,  which,  in  a  child's-eye 
point  of  view,  possesses  a  majesty  and  beauty  in 
the  country  altogether  unappreciable  in  a  largo 
city.  I  allude  to  the  Menagerie!  For  weeks, 


ADVENT    OF    THE    MENAGERIE.       55 

juvenile  curiosity  has  been  stimulated  by  pictorial 
representations  at  the  De"pot  and  Post-office.  There 
is  the  likeness  of  the  man  who  goes  into  the  cage 
with  the  wild  beasts,  holding  out  two  immense 
lions  at  arms'  length.  There  is  the  giraffe  with  his 
neck  reaching  above  a  lofty  palm  tree,  and  the  boa 
constrictor  with  a  yawning  tiger  in  his  convoluted 
embrace.  If  you  observe  the  countenances  of  the 
small  fry  collected  in  front  of  a  bill  of  this  descrip 
tion  in  the  rural  districts,  you  will  see  in  each  and 
all,  a  remarkable  enlargement  of  the  eye,  expres 
sive  of  wonder. 

"  Conjecture,  expectation,  and  surmise," 

are  children's  bedfellows,  and  the  infantile  pulse 
reaches  fever  heat  lof%  before  the  arrival  of  the 
elephant.  At  last  he  comes,  the  "  Aleph  "*  of  the 
procession  !  swinging  his  long  cartilaginous  shilla- 
lah  in  solemn  concord  with  the  music.  Then  fol 
low  wagons  bearing  the  savage  animals  in  boxes 
with  red  panels ;  then  a  pair  of  cloven-footed 

*  Aleph,  the  Drst  letter  of  the  Hebrew  alphabet.  ProbabJy  the 
elephant  was  the  first  thing  Adam  saw,  and  hence,  the  name 
Aleph-ant. 


5C  SPARROW  GRASS    PAPERS. 

camels;  then  other  wagons  all  mystery  and  red 
panels ;  then  pie-bald  horses  and  ponies,  and  then 
the  rear-guard  of  the  caravan  drags  its  slow  length 
along.  "  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  "  we 
must  take  the  children  and  go  to  the  menagerie." 
This  seemed  a  reasonable  request,  and  of  course  we 
went.  When  we  approached  the  big  tent  we  heard 
the  music  of  wind  instruments,  the  sound  of  a  gong, 
and  the  roaring  of  lions.  This  divided  our  juvenile 
party  at  once,  one  half  wanted  to  go  in,  and  the 
other  half  wanted  to  keep  out ;  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass 
joined  the  seceders,  and  in  consequence,  we  sepa 
rated  at  the  entrance  of  the  canvas  edifice.  When 
we  got  in  we  heard  that  the  lion-tamer  had  finished 
his  performance,  and  that  the  elephant  had  been 
around,  but  there  was  a  great  deal  of  sport  going 
on  in  the  ring — the  monkey  was  riding  on  his  pony. 
At  this  announcement  the  young  ones  were  im 
mensely  excited,  and  tried  to  get  a  peep  at  it,  but, 
although  I  held  them  up  at  arms'  length,  they 
could  see  neither  monkey  nor  'pony.  Then  I  tried 
to  work  a  passage  for  them  to  the  front,  but  the 
ring  being  invested  with  a  border  of  country  people 
thirteen  deep,  this  was  out  of  the  question.  So  I 
concluded  to  wait  until  the  crowd  dispersed,  and  to 


SOMETHING    BKOKE    LOOSE.          57 

keep  the  young  Sparrowgrasses  in  good- humor,  I 
held  them  up  and  let  them  read  the  signs  on  the 
tops  of  the  cages.  "KoYAL  BENGAL  TIGER" — • 
"  BLACK  LION  FKOM  NUBIA  "• — "  YELLOW  ASIATIC 
LION"—"  THE  GNU"—"  WHITE  POLAR  BEAK,"  &c., 
&c.  Bj  and  by  the  clapping  of  hands  announced 
the  close  of  the  performance,  in  the  ring,  and  the 
dense  mass  of  people  became  detached,  so  we  made 
our  way  through  the  crowd  towards  the  elephant. 
All  of  a  sudden  we  saw  a  general  rush  of  the  crowd 
in  our  direction,  and  we  heard  somebody  say  that 
"  something  had  broke  loose  !"  Not  being  of  an  in 
quisitive  turn  of  mind,  I  did  not  ask  what  it  was,  but 
at  once  retired  under  a  wagon  load  of  pelicans,  and 
put  the  young  Sparrowgrasses  though  a  door  which 
I  made  in  the  side  of  the  tent  with  my  pruning-knife. 
The  people  poured  out  of  the  big  door  and  from 
under  the  edges  of  the  tent,  but  they  had  not  run  far 
before  they  stopped,  and  proceeded  to  make  inqui 
ries.  Some  said  it  was  the  polar  bear,  whereupon 
several  respectable  looking  men  suddenly  climbed 
over  a  fence  ;  others  said  it  was  a  monkey,  at  which 
all  the  boys  set  up  a  shout.  The  intrepid  conduct  of 
the  cash-taker  had  much  to  do  with  restoring  confi 
dence,  lie  stood  there,  at  the  entrance  of  the  tent, 

4* 


58  SPAKROWGKASS    PAPERS. 

smoking  a  cigar  with  imperturbable  firmness.  So 
we  all  concluded  to  go  back  again  and  see  the  rest 
of  the  show.  "When  we  got  to  the  door  we  found 
the  entrance  fee  -was  twenty-five  cents.  We  repre 
sented  that  we  had  been  in  before.  "  That  may  be," 
replied  the  cash-taker,  "  but  we  don't  sell  season 
tickets  at  this  establishment." 

Finding  the  discussion  was  likely  to  be  violent 
upon' this  point,  I  retired,  with  some  suspicions  of 
having  been  slightly  swindled.  When  I  got  home, 
Mrs.  S.  asked  me  "  if  we  had  seen  the  elephant  ?"  I 
told  her  the  whole  story.  "  "Well,"  said  she,  "  that's 
just  the  way  I  thought  it  would  be.  I'm  glad  I 
did  not  go  in." 

It  seems  to  me  the  country  is  marvellously  beau 
tiful  iu  winter  time.  The  number  of  bright  days 
and  moonlight  nights  is  surprising.  The  sky  is  not 
less  blue  in  January  than  in  June,  nor  is  a  winter 
landscape  without  its  charms.  The  lost  verdure  of 
the  woods  is  compensated  by  the  fine  frost-work 
woven  in  the  delicate  tracery  of  the  trees.  To  see 
a  noble  forest  wreathed  in  icy  gems,  is  one  of  the 
transcendental  glories  of  creation.  You  look  through 
long  arcades  of  iridescent  light,  and  the  vision  has 
an  awful  majesty,  compared  with  which  the  most 


REVERENCE  FOR  THE  COUNTRY.  59 

brilliant  cathedral  windows  pale  their  ineffectual 
fires.  It  is  the  crystal  palace  of  Jehovah  !  "Within 
its  sounding  aisles  a  thought  even  of  the  city  seems 
irreverent.  We  begin  to  love  the  country  more 
and  more. 

"  Its  dewy  morn,  and  odorous  noon,  and  even, 
With  sunset,  and  its  gorgeous  ministers, 
And  solemn  midnight's  tingling  silentness  ; 
And  autumn's  hollow  sighs  in  the  sere  wood, 
And  winter,  robing  with  pure  snow  and  crowns 
Of  starry  ice  the  grey  grass  and  bare  boughs ; 
And  spring's  voluptuous  pantings  when  she  breathes 
Her  first  sweet  kisses." 

Here  you  begin  to  apprehend  the  wonderful  order 
of  creation,  the  lengthening  days  after  the  winter 
solstice  ;  all  the  phenomena  of  meteoric  machinery, 
every  change  in  the  wind,  every  change  in  the  tem 
perature  ;  in  the  leafless  trees  you  see  a  surprising 
variety  of  forms.  The  maple,  the  oak,  the  chest 
nut,  the  hickory,  the  beech,  have  each  an  architec 
ture  as  distinct  as  those  of  the  five  orders.  Then 
the  spring  is  tardy  in  town,  but  if  you  have  a  hot 
bed  in  the  country,  you  see  its  young  green  first 
lings  bursting  from  the  rich  mould  long  before  the 
city  has  shaken  off  the  thraldom  of  winter. 


60  SPAKKOWGRA86     PAPEKS. 

One  day  in  the  month  of  March,  I  heard  there 
was  to  be  some  sport  on  the  Nepperhan  in  the  way 
of  fishing,  so  I  took  my  young  ones  to  see  it.  The 
Nepperhan  is  an  historical  river — the  Tiber  of 
Yonkers.  It  runs  in  a  straight  line  for  about  forty 
yards  from  the  Hudson,  then  proudly  turns  to  the 
right,  then  curves  to  the  left,  and  in  fact  exhibits  all 
the  peculiarities  of  the  Mississippi  without  its  tur 
bulence  and  monotony.  It  was  a  cold  day  in 
spring,  the  air  was  chill,  the  sky  grey,  the  Pali 
sades  still  ribbed  with  snow.  As  we  approached 
the  stream  we  saw  that  a  crowd  had  collected  on 
the  deck  of  a  wrecked  coal-barge  moored  close  to 
the  bank,  and  on  the  side  of  the  bank  opposite  to 
the  barge,  a  man  was  standing,  with  one  foot  in 
the  water,  holding  up  the  end  of  a  net  stretched 
across  the  tide.  The  other  end  of  the  net  was  fast 
ened  to  the  barge,  and  the  bight,  as  the  sailors  say, 
was  in  the  water.  In  the  middle  of  the  crowd 
there  stood  upright  a  fair,  portly-looking  man  of 
good  presence.  His  face  looked  like  a  weather- 
beaten,  sign-board  portrait  of  General  Washington 
with  white  whiskers.  He  was  looking  up  the 
stream,  which  from  this  point  made  a  rush  for  the 
south  for  about  one  hundred  feet,  then  gave  it  up, 


THE    MYSTERY    SOLVED.  61 

and  turned  off  due  east,  around  a  clump  of  bushes. 
What  particular  animosity  General  Washington 
had  to  this  part  of  the  stream  I  could  not  imagine, 
but  he  was  damning  that  clump  of  bushes  with  a 
zeal  worthy  of  a  better  cause.  I  never  heard  such 
imprecations.  The  oaths  flew  from  his  lips,  up 
stream,  as  the  sparks  fly  from  an  express  locomotive 
at  midnight.  Dr.  Slop's  remarks  concerning  the 
knots  in  the  string  of  the  green  bag  of  surgical  in 
struments,  beside  them,  was  like  tender  pity.  Such 
ill-natured,  uncharitable,  unamiable,  mordacious, 
malignant,  pitiless,  ruthless,  fell,  cruel,  ferocious, 
prescriptive,  sanguinary,  unkind  execrations  were 
never  fulminated  against  a  clump  of  bushes  before. 
By-and-by  a  flat-boat,  filled  with  men,  turned  the 
corner  and  came  broadside  down  stream.  The  men 
were  splashing  the  water  on  every  side  of  the  flat- 
boat  to  drive  the  fish  towards  the  net !  They  had 
oars,  sticks,  boards,  boughs,  and  branches.  Then 
I  understood  General  Washington.  He  had  been 
offended  because  the  flat-boat  was  behind  time. 

Now  it  was  all  right :  I  saw  a  placid  expression 
spreading  over  his  weather-beaten  countenance,  as 
a  drop  of  oil  will  spread  over  rough  water,  and 
mollify  its  turbulent  features.  The  flat-boat,  or 


62  SPARROWGRACS    PAPERS. 

scow,  was  long  enough  to  stretch  almost  from  shore 
to  shore.  The  shouts  and  splashes  were  frighten 
ing  the  fish,  and  below  us,  in  the  water,  we  could 
occasionally  see  a  spectral  sucker  darting  hither 
and  thither.  I  looked  again  at  General  Washing 
ton.  He  had  untied  the  end  of  the  net,  and  was 
holding  it  in  his  hand.  His  face  expressed  in 
tense  inward  satisfaction — deep — not  vain-glorious. 
Near  and  nearer  swept  the  broadside  of  the  boat, 
down  stream  was  the  net,  between  both  were  the 
accumulating  fish.  General  Washington's  hand 
trembled — he  was  getting  excited.  Here  it  comes, 
close  upon  us,  and  then — by  the  whiskers  of  the 
Great  Mogul !  one  end  of  the  scow  grounded  on 
the  opposite  bank,  the  bow  rounded  to,  and  cat-fish, 
perch,  bull-head,  and  sucker,  darted  through  the 
gap,  and  made  tracks  for  the  most  secluded  parts 
of  the  Nepperhan  !(  But  he  who  held  the  net 
was  equal  to  the  emergency — he  cursed  the  boat 
out  at  right  angles  in  an  instant — a  small  minority 
of  the  fish  still  remained,  and  these  were  driven 
into  the  net.  General  Washington,  with  an  impulse 
like  that  of  a  Titan  rooting  up  an  oak,  pulled  up 
his  end  of  the  net — the  fish  were  fairly  above  the 
water — a  smile  gleamed  out  of  his  weather-beaten 


NARY     FlSH.  63 

face  like  a  flash  from  a  cannon — and  then — then 
it  was — just  then — the  treacherous  mesh  split!  and 
like  a  thread  of  silver,  fire,  the  finny  prey  disap 
peared  through  the  rent,  and  made  a  bee-line  for 
the  Hudson. 

"  Nary  fish  !"  said  an  innocent  bystander.  Gene 
ral  Washington  turned  an  eye  upon  him  that  was 
like  a  Drummond  light,  dropped  the  net,  took  off 
his  hat,  and  then  proceeded  to  give  that  individual 
such  an  account  of  his  birth,  parentage  and  family 
connections,  from  the  earliest  settlement  of  West- 
chester  county  to  the  present  time,  that  a  parental 
regard  for  the  ears  of  the  young  Sparrowgrassii, 
induced  me  to  hurry  them  off  the  coal-barge  in  the 
quickest  kind  of  time.  But  long  after  the  scene 
was  out  of  sight,  I  could  hear,  rolling  along  the  face 
of  the  rocky  Palisades,  the  reverberations  of  the 
big  oaths,  the  resonant  shadows  of  the  huge  ana 
themas,  that  had  been  the  running  accompaniments 
to  the  sucker  fishing  on  the  Nepperhan ! 


64  SPARROW  GRASS    PAPERS. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


An  Event—  Wolfert's  Roost—  The  Nepperhan  and  its  Legends—  Mr.  Sparrow- 
grass  descends  to  the  Infernal  Regions  on  a  Dumb  Waiter  —  Carrier  Pigeons 
and  Roosters—  The  great  Polish  Exile—  Poetry—  Altogether  a  Chapter  of 
Birds. 


have  had  an  event  in  our  family.  The  chil 
dren  are  half  crazy  about  it  ;  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass 
says  she  cannot  lay  it  down  for  a  moment  ;  when 
she  does,  Miss  Lobelia,  our  niece,  takes  it  up,  and 
there  she  will  sit  over  it,  in  her  lap,  for  hours  to 
gether.  It  is  called  "  WOLFERT'S  ROOST,"  a  new 
book,  by  Washington  Irving.  When  I  brought  it 
home  in  my  carpet-bag,  and  opened  it  at  our  win 
ter  tea-table,  and  read  all  about  the  Nepperhan 
(our  river)  to  the  boys,  their  eyes  dilated  so,  that  I 
seemed  to  be  surrounded  with  the  various  mill- 
ponds  of  that  celebrated  stream.  Here  we  are 
within  the  enchanted  ground,  and  the  shadow  of 
the  great  "  Ivatrina  Van  Courtland,  with  one  foot 
resting  on  Spiting  Devil  Creek,  and  the  other  on 
the  Croton  River,"  is  over  us.  It  is  pleasant  to 


WOL YS KT '  §  ROOBT .  65 

know  that,  in  case  of  invasion,  we  are  in  the  same 
county  with  the  lusty  goose-gun  of  the  lion-hearted 
Jacob  Yan  Tassel ;  and,  even  in  this  biting  winter- 
weather,  there  is  a  sort  of  local  pride  in  the  reflec 
tion  that  the  north  wind  cannot  approach  us,  with 
out  making  all  the  weathercocks  on  the  "  Roost  " 
point  towards  Yonkers. 

As  for  our  eldest,  the  reading  to  him  of  "  The 
Adalantado  of  the  Seven  Cities,"  and  "  The  Three 
Kings  of  Bermuda"  has  filled  his  head  with  ships, 
sails,  anchors,  salt-water,  and  ambergris, 

"  Nothing  of  him 


But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange." 

And  while  perusing  "  Hountjoy,"  I  observed  our 
niece,  Miss  Lobelia,  glancing  contemplatively  more 
than  once  at  her  slipper.  "  Uncle  Sparrowgrass," 
said  she,  "  you  have  been  to  Wolfert's  Roost,  I  be 
lieve?"  I  answered,  with  all  the  humility  I  could 
muster,  that  I  had,  and  proceeded  to  give  a  full 
and  minute  account  of  the  particulars  ;  how  L.  G. 
0.  and  I  walked  from  "  Dobb  his  ferry,"  upon  the 
rigid  back-bone  of  the  aqueduct,  to  Dearman's  one 
memorable  summer  day ;  how  the  Roost  looked, 


66  SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

and  everything  about  it — the  rough-cast  walls, 
overclung  with  Abbotsford  ivy,  and  trumpet 
creeper — the  crow-step  gables  —  the  Sunny-side 
pond,  with  its  navy  of  white,  topsail  ducks — the 
Spanish  chestnut  that  stood  on  the  bank — the  splen 
did  tulip-trees  in  the  ravine  back  of  the  Roost — 
Gentleman  Dick  in  the  stable — the  well-worn  tiles 
in  the  hall,  the  Stadt-IIouse  weathercock  on  the 
peak  of  the  roof.  Miss  Lobelia  interrupted  me — 
"  Is  Mr.  a — a — I  mean,  what  became  of  the  heroine 
of  the  footsteps  I"  "  Oh,  ho !"  thought  I,  "  I  see 
where  the  shoe  pinches,"  and  then  gravely  an 
swered,  "Mountjoyis  still  a  bachelor;"  at  which 
our  niece  glanced  furtively  again  at  her  little  slip 
per,  and  a  fleeting  dimple  faded  from  her  cheek,  as 
I  have  seen  a  farewell  ship  gleam  for  a  moment  in 
the  sun,  then  vanish  in  shadow. 

There's  magic  in  the  book,  it  has  bewitched 
everybody ! 

What  I  most  admire  in  it  is,  the  juvenile  air 
it  has ;  there  is  a  freshness  about  Wolfert's  Iloost, 
a  sort,  of  spring-like  freshness,  which  makes  it 
more  attractive  than  anything  else  Irving  ever 
wrote.  It  is  a  younger  brother  of  the  Sketch  Book, 
not  so  scholarly,  perhaps,  but  sprightlier ;  fuller  of 


THE    NEPPEKHAN.  6T 

fine  impulses — genius — fire — spirit !  And  then  it 
has  mentioned  our  village  once  or  twice ;  and  the 
beloved  Nepperhan  river  rolls  along,  no  longer  a 
dumb  feeder  of  rnill-ponds,  but  a  legended  stream, 
that  "  winds,  for  many  miles,  through  a  lovely  val 
ley,  shrouded  by  groves,  and  dotted  by  Dutch  farm 
houses,  and  empties  itself  into  the  Hudson,  at  the 
ancient  Dorp  of  Yonkers  !" 

"  The  intelligible  forms  of  ancient  poets, 
The  fair  humanities  of  old  religion, 
The  power,  the  beauty,  and  the  majesty, 
That  had  her  haunts  in  dale,  and  piny  mountains, 
Or  forest  by  slow  stream,  or  pebbly  spring, 
Or  chasms  and  watery  depths," 

may  now  visit  the  sacred  shores  of  the  Sawr-Mill 
river — the  Nepperhan.  A  touch  of  Irving's  quill, 
and  lo,  it  is  immortal !  As  Arno  to  the  Tuscan,  or 
Guadalquivir  to  the  Andalusian  ;  as  the  Ganges  to 
the  Hindoo,  or  the  Nile  to  the  Egyptian,  hence 
forth  and  for  ever  the  Nepperhan  to  the  Yonk — to 
the  future  citizens  of  the  ancient  Dorp  of  Yonkers. 

;<  Bottom,  thou  art  translated." 

We,  too,  have  our  traditions,  and  some  remain 


68  SPABKOW GRASS    PAPERS. 

untold.  One  is  that  of  the  horse-ghost,  who  may 
be  seen  every  Evacuation  night,  after  twelve,  on  a 
spectral  trot  towards  the  City  of  New  York ;  and 
the  other  is  the  legend  of  the  Lop-horned  Buck, 
who  sometimes,  in  a  still  summer  evening,  comes 
through  the  glen,  to  drink  from  Baldwin's  phantom- 
haunted  pond.  When  these  are  recorded,  in  a  fu 
ture  Wolfert's  Roost,  then  will  the  passenger,  by 
loitering  steamboat,  cr  flying  train,  draw  a  long 
breath  as  he  passes  our  village,  and  say,  "  there ! 
look !  behold  !  the  ancient  Dorp  of  Yonkers  1" 

We  have  put  a  dumb  waiter  in  our  house.  A 
dumb  waiter  is  a  good  thing  to  have  in  the  country, 
on  account  of  its  convenience.  If  you  have  com 
pany,  everything  can  be  sent  up  from  the  kitchen 
without  any  trouble,  and,  if  the  baby  gets  to  be 
unbearable,  on  account  of  his  teeth,  you  can  dismiss 
the  complainant  by  stuffing  him  in  one  of  the 
shelves,  and  letting  him  down  upon  the  help.  To 
provide  for  contingencies,  we  had  all  our  floors 
deafened.  In  consequence,  you  cannot  hear  any 
thing  that  is  going  on  in  the  story  below ;  and, 
when  you  are  in  an  upper  room  of  the  house,  there 
might  be  a  democratic  ratification  meeting  in  the 
cellar,  and  you  would  not  know  it.  Therefore,  if 


LOCALITY    or    OUE    PTJMP.  69 

any  one  should  break  into  the  basement,  it  would 
not  disturb  us  ;  but  to  please  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  1 
put  stout  iron  bars  in  all  the  lower  windows.  Be 
sides,  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  had  bought  a  rattle  when 
she  was  in  Philadelphia;  such  a  rattle  as  watch 
men  carry  there.  This  is  to  alarm  our  neighbor, 
who,  upon  the  signal,  is  to  come  to  the  rescue  with 
his  revolver.  He  is  a  rash  man,  prone  to  pull  trig 
ger  first,  and  make  inquiries  afterwards. 

One  evening,  Mrs.  S.  had  retired,  and  I  was  busy 
writing,  when  it  struck  me  a  glass  of  ice-water 
would  be  palatable.  So  I  took  the  candle  and  a 
pitcher,  and  went  down  to  the  pump.  Our  pump 
is  in  the  kitchen.  A  country  pump,  in  the  kitchen, 
is  more  convenient ;  but  a  well  with  buckets  is 
certainly  most  picturesque.  Unfortunately,  our 
well  water  has  not  been  sweet  since  it  was  cleaned 
out.  First  I  had  to  open  a  bolted  door  that  lets 
you  into  the  basement-hall,  and  then  I  went  to  the 
kitchen-door,  which  proved  to  be  locked.  Then  I 
remembered  that  our  girl  always  carried  the  key 
to  bed  with  her,  and  slept  with  it  under  her  pillow. 
Then  I  retraced  my  steps ;  bolted  the  basement- 
door,  and  went  up  in  the  dining-room.  As  is 
always  the  case,  I  found,  when  I  could  not  get  any 


70  SPAKKOWGKASS   PAPERS. 

water,  I  was  thirstier  than  I  supposed  I  was.  Then 
I  thought  I  would  wake  our  girl  up.  Then  I  con 
cluded  not  to  do  it.  Then  I  thought  of  the  well, 
but  I  gave  that  up  on  account  of  its  flavor.  Then 
I  opened  the  closet  doors,  there  was  no  water  there; 
and  then  I  thought  of  the  dumb  waiter !  The 
novelty  of  the  idea  made  me  smile ;  I  took  out  two 
of  the  movable  shelves,  stood  the  pitcher  on  the 
bottom  of  the  dumb  waiter,  got  in  myself  with  the 
lamp ;  let  myself  down,  until  I  supposed  I  was 
within  a  foot  of  the  floor  below,  and  then  let  go ! 

We  came  down  so  suddenly,  that  I  was  shot  out 
of  the  apparatus  as  if  it  had  been  a  catapult ;  it 
broke  the  pitcher,  extinguished  the  lamp,  and 
landed  me  in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen  at  midnight, 
with  no  fire,  and  the  air  not  much  above  the  zero 
point.  The  truth  is,  I  had  miscalculated  the  dis 
tance  of  the  descent — instead  of  falling  one  foot,  I 
had  fallen  five.  My  first  impulse  was,  to  ascend 
by  the  way  I  came  down,  but  I  found  that  imprac 
ticable.  Then  I  tried  the  kitchen  door,  it  was 
locked ;  I  tried  to  force  it  open ;  it  was  made  of 
two-inch  stuif,  and  'held  its  own.  Then  I  hoisted  a 
window,  and  there  were  the  rigid  iron  bars.  If  I 
ever  I  felt  angry  at  anybody  it  was  at  myself,  for 


A     PKEDICAMENT.  71 

putting  up  those  bars  to  please  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass. 
I  put  them  up,  not  to  keep  people  in,  but  to  keep 
people  out. 

I  laid  my  cheek  against  the  ice-cold  barriers  and 
looked  out  at  the  sky ;  not  a  star  was  visible ;  it 
was  as  black  as  ink  overhead.  Then  I  thought  of 
Baron  Trenck,  and  the  prisoner  of  Chillon.  Then 
I  made  a  noise !  I  shouted  until  I  was  hoarse,  and 
ruined  our  preserving-kettle  with  the  poker.  That 
brought  our  dogs  out  in  full  bark,  and  between  us 
we  made  night  hideous.  Then  I  thought  I  heard  a 
voice,  and  listened — it  was  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  call 
ing  to  me  from  the  top  of  the  stair-case.  I  tried  to 
make  her  hear  me,  but  the  infernal  dogs  united 
with  howl,  and  growl,  and  bark,  so  as  to  drown  iny 
voice,  which  is  naturally  plaintive  and  tender. 
Besides,  there  were  two  bolted  doors  and  double 
deafened  floors  between  us ;  how  could  she  recog 
nize  my  voice,  even  if  she  did  hear  it  ?  Mrs.  Spar 
rowgrass  called  once  or  twice,  and  then  got  fright 
ened  ;  the  next  thing  I  heard  was  a  sound  as  if  the 
roof  had  fallen  in,  by  which  I  understood  that  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass  was  springing  the  rattle !  That 
called  out  our  neighbor,  already  wide  awake ;  he 
came  to  the  rescue  with  a  bull-terrier,  a  Newfound- 


72  SPARROW  GRASS    PAPEKS. 

land  pup,  a  lantern,  and  a  revolver.  The  moment 
he  saw  me  at  the  window,  he  shot  at  me,  but  fortu 
nately  just  missed  me.  I  threw  myself  under  the 
kitchen  table  and  ventured  to  expostulate  with 
him,  but  he  would  not  listen  to  reason.  In  the 
excitement  I  had  forgotten  his  name,  and  that 
made  matters  worse.  It  was  not  until  lie  had 
roused  up  everybody  around,  broken  in  the  base 
ment  door  with  an  axe,  gotten  into  the  kitchen 
with  his  cursed  savage  dogs  and  shooting-iron,  and 
seized  rne  by  the  collar,  that  he  recognized  me — 
and  then,  he  wanted  me  to  explain  it !  But  what 
kind  of  an  explanation  could  I  make  to  him?  I 
told  him  he  would  have  to  wait  until  my  mind  was 
composed,  and  then  I  would  let  him  understand 
the  whole  matter  fully.  But  he  never  would  have 
had  the  particulars  from  me,  for  I  do  not  approve 
of  neighbors  that  shoot  at  you,  break  in  your  door, 
and  treat  you,  in  your  own  house,  as  if  you  were  a 
jail-bird.  He  knows  all  about  it,  however — some 
body  has  told  him — somebody  tells  everybody  every 
thing  in  our  village. 

That  somebody  reminds  me  of  a  queer  fowl  that 
roosts  in  the  village,  and  in  all  villages,  to  hatch 
disturbances  among  weak-minded  people.  I  allude 


THE    CAKKIEK    PIGEON.  73 

to  the  Carrier  Pigeon.  The  Carrier  Pigeon  tells 
you  all  your  friends  say  of  you,  and  tells  your 
friends  all  you  say  of  them.  The  mode  of  tactics 
is  somewhat  in  this  wise.  She  goes  to  Mrs.  Korn- 
kobbe's,  takes  tea  with  that  lady,  pets  the  children, 
takes  out  her  needle  and  thread,  opens  her  little 
basket,  pulls  out  a  bit  of  linen,  with  a  collar  pat 
tern  pencilled  upon  it,  puts  on  her  thimble,  then 
stitches  away,  and  innocently  asks  Mrs.  3L  if  she 
has  heard  that  ridiculous  story  about  her  husband. 
Mrs.  Kornkobbe  has  not  heard  of  it,  but  bridles 
up,  and  would  like  to  know  who  has  had  the  impu 
dence  to  say  anything  about  her  husband !  The 
Carrier  Pigeon  does  not  like  to  mention  names, 
but  vaguely  hints  that  something  is  in  the  wind. 
Mrs.  K.,  of  course,  is  anxious  to  know  the  particu 
lars.  Carrier  Pigeon  would  not  for  the  world  hurt 
Mrs.  K.'s  feelings,  but,  just  for  her  pwn  satisfac 
tion,  she  would  like  to  ask  "  where  Mr.  Korn- 
kobbe's  father  was  born  ?"  Mrs.  K.  is  completely 
nonplused  by  this  question,  for,  to  use  a  mercantile 
phrase,  she  had  never  been  posted  up  in  regard  to 
the  incubation  of  her  father-in-law,  deceased  some 
twenty  years  before  she  was  married  and  two  years 
before  she  was  born.  Carrier  Pigeon,  seeing  Mrs. 


74  SPAKROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

K.'s  trepidation,  adds,  carelessly,  as  it  were,  "Your 
husband  is  an  American,  I  believe?"  Mrs.  K. 
catches  at  that,  and  answers  "  Yes."  "  German 
name  ?"  Mrs.  K.  replies  in.  the  affirmative.  "  That 
is  all  I  want  to  know,"  sighs  the  Carrier  Pigeon. 
"Whereupon  Mrs.  K.,  who  is  wrought  up  to  fever 
point,  answers,  "  But  that  is  not  all  I  want  to 
know ;"  and,  by  dint  of  a  deal  of  persuasion,  finally 
draws  out  the  important  secret ;  the  Carrier  Pigeon 
has  heard  it  reported  all  over  the  village,  that  Mr. 
Kornkobbe's  father  was  nothing  but  a  low  German 
shoemaker.  Now,  if  there  is  any  information  that 
Mrs.  K.  desires  next  in  the  world,  it  is  to  have  the 
name  of  the  person  who  said  so ;  and  Carrier 
Pigeon,  after  a  temporary  struggle  between  duty 
and  propriety,  finally,  but  reluctantly,  gives  up 
Mrs.  Marshmallow  as  the  author,  at  which  Mrs. 
Kornkobbe  lets  loose  all  the  pent-up  fury  in  her 
soul  upon  the  whole  Marshmallow  tribe,  from  the 
old  grandfather,  who  hands  around  the  plate  in 
church,  down  to  the  youngest  member  of  the 
family,  just  recovering  from  the  united  attacks  of 
sprue,  measles,  hooping  cough,  and  chicken  pox. 

The   next   day  Mrs.  Marshmallow,  who  really 
loves  Mrs.  K.  like  a  sister,  and  who  possibly  might 


THE    CAKKIER    PIGEON.  75 

have  repeated  by  way  of  a  mere  joke,  and  not  as 
a  reflection,  that  Kornkobbe,  senior,  had  been  a 
Teutonic  cordwainer — the  next  day,  Mrs.  Marsh- 
mallow  is  visited  by  the  Carrier  Pigeon.  Now, 
Mrs.  M.  is  a  lady  of  much  stronger  mind  than  Mrs. 
K. ;  not  so  easily  excited  by  any  means ;  but  Car 
rier  Pigeon,  by  dint  of  hints,  innuendoes,  and  all 
the  artillery  of  shrugs  and  smiles,  finally  manages 
to  excite  her  curiosity;  and  then,  when  pressed  to 
divulge,  after  binding  up  Mrs.  Marshmallow  not  to 
tell  a  living  soul,  and  taking  other  precautions  of 
like  nature,  reluctantly,  after  struggling  again 
through  duty  and  propriety,  allows  Mrs.  Marsh- 
mallow  to  draw  from  her  all  and  everything  Mrs. 
Kornkobbe  had  said  about  her  the  previous  even 
ing  ;  but,  of  course,  does  not  say  a  word  of  the  use 
she  had  made  of  Mrs.  Marshmallow's  name,  by 
which  the  fire  had  been  kindled  so  as  to  bring  Mi's. 
K.  up  to  the  scalding  point.  And,  as  the  tone  of 
the  Carrier  Pigeon  would  lead  Mrs.  M.  to  believe 
that  all  her  friend,  Mrs.  Kornkobbe,  had  said,  was 
gratuitous,  she  at  once  makes  up  her  mind  that 
Mrs.  Kornkobbe  is  a  base,  cold-blooded,  double- 
faced,  malicious  slanderer.  How  pleased  she  is 
that  she  has  found  her  out.  Explanation  is  out  of 


76  SPARBOWG B*A ss   PAPERS. 

the  question  ;  neither  Mrs.  K.  nor  Mrs.  M.  will 
condescend  to  notice  each  other,  and  Mr.  Marsh- 
mallow  and  Mr.  Kornkobbe  go  down  to  town  in 
separate  cars  from  that  time  and  for  ever. 

I  love  to  see  the  Carrier  Pigeon  ;  to  admire  its 
pretty  glossy  neck,  its  mild  eyes,  its  chaste  and  ele 
gant  plumage ;  but  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  and  I  have 
determined  never  to  listen  to  its  dulcet  voice, 
whether  it  bring  accounts  of  how  our  neighbors 
look,  or  how  we  look  ourselves  when  others  see  us. 

We  have  gotten  another  rooster.  Our  Bantam 
disappeared  one  day ;  but  we  do  not  think  it  a 
serious  loss,  as  he  was  of  very  little  use.  While 
he  remained  with  us  he  kept  up  a  sort  of  rakish  air, 
and  swaggered  among  the  young  pullets,  just  as 
you  sometimes  see  an  old  bachelor  with  a  bevy  of 
buxom  damsels ;  but  the  dame  Partlets  did  not 
have  much  respect  for  him,  and  I  am  afraid  he  was 
terribly  hen-pecked  by  Leah  and  Rachel.  He  left 
us  one  day.  Probably  he  made  away  with  himself 
— -there  is  a  great  deal  of  vanity  in  a  rooster,  and 
wounded  vanity  is  often  the  cause  of  suicide.  One 
evening,  on  my  return  from  the  city,  Mr?.  Spar 
rowgrass  said  she  had  a  surprise  for  me — a  present 
from  a  friend.  It  was  a  Rooster ;  a  magnificent 

*  O 


MY    POLAND    BOOSTER.  77 

black  Poland  cock,  with  a  tuft  of  white  feathers  on 
his  crown,  and  the  most  brilliant  plumage  in  "West- 
chester  county.  There  he  stood,  one  foot  advanced, 
head  erect,  eye  like  a  diamond,  tail  as  high  as  his 
top-knot.  There,  too,  was  his  mate,  a  matron-like, 
respectable  looking  female,  who  would  probably 
conduct  herself  according  to  circumstances,  and 
preserve  her  dignity  amid  the  trying  difficulties  of 
her  new  position.  "  A  present  from  Judge  Wald- 
bin,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass.  "So  I  thought," 
said  I ;  "  generous  friend  !  Do  you  know  what  I 
intend  to  do  with  his  rooster  2"  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass 
was  frightened,  and  said  she  did-  not  know.  "  Put 
him  in  verse,"  said  I.  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  she 
never  heard  of  such  a  thing.  But  I  will,  Mrs.  S., 
though  I  cannot  write  verse  except  upon  great 
occasions.  So,  after  a  hearty  supper  and  two  cigars, 
I  composed  the  following  : — 

TO    MY    POLAND    ROOSTER. 

"  0  thou,  whatever  title  please  thine  ear," 
He-chicken,  Rooster,  Cock,  or  Chanticleer  ; 
"Whether  on  France's  flag  you  flap  and  flare, 
Or  roost  and  drowse  in  Shelton's  elbow-chair  ; 
Or  wake  the  drones,  or  please  the  female  kind, 
And  cluck  and  strut  with  all  your  hens  behind  ; 


78  SPAKROWGEASS    PAPERS. 

• 

As  symbol,  teacher,  time-piece,  spouse,  to  you 
Our  praise  is  doubtless,  Cock-a-doodle,  due. 

Oviparous  Sultan,  Pharaoh,  Ca;sar,  Czar, 
Sleep-shattering  songster,  feathered  morning-star  ; 
Many-wived  Mormon,  cock-pit  Spartacus, 
"Winner  alike  of  coin  and  hearty  curse  ; 
Sir  Harem  Scarum,  knight  by  crest  and  spur, 
Great,  glorious,  gallinaceous  Aaron  Burr, 
How  proud  am  I — how  proud  yon  corn-fed  flock 
Of  cackling  houris  are — of  thee,  Old  Cock  ! 

Illustrious  Exile !   far  thy  kindred  crow 
Where  Warsaw's  towers  with  morning  glories  glow ; 
Shanghai  and  Chittagong  may  have  their  day, 
And  even  BRAHMA-POOTRA  fade  away  ; 
But  thou  shalt  live,  immortal  Polack,  thou, 
Though  Russia's  eagle  clips  thy  pinions  now, 
To  flap  thy  wings  and  crow  with  all  thy  soul, 
"When  Freedom  spreads  her  light  from  Pole  to  Pole. 

"  1  think,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  "  I  have 
heard  something  like  that  before." 

"  ISTo  doubt  you  have,"  said  I ;  "  part  is  from 
Pope,  part  from  Halleck,  especially  the  pun  in  the 
first  stanza  ;  but  how  can  you  make  decent  poetry 
in  the  country  without  borrowing  a  little  here  and 
there,  unless  you  have  the  genius  of  a  Homer,  or 
of  an  Alexander  Smith,  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  ?" 


A     COUNTSY     FlKEPLAOE.  79 


CHAPTER   VII. 

A  Country  Fire-place— Lares  and  Penatea— Sentiment — Spring  Vegetables  in 
the  Germ — A  Garden  on  Paper — Warm  Weather — A  Festa — An  Irruption  of 
Noseologists — Constitutional  Law,  and  so  forth. 

IT  is  a  good  thing  to  have  an  old-fashioned  fire 
place  in  the  country ;  a  broad-breasted,  deep-chested 
chimney-piece,  with  its  old-fashioned  fender,  its 
old-fashioned  andirons,  its  old-fashioned  shovel  and 
tongs,  and  a  goodly  show  of  cherry-red  hickory,  in 
a  glow,  with  its  volume  of  blue  smoke  curling  up 
the  thoracic  duct.  "  Ah  !  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  what 
would  the  country  be  without  a  chimney  corner 
and  a  hearth  ?  Do  you  know,"  said  I,  "  the  little 
fairies  dance  upon  the  hearth-stone  when  an  heir  is 
born  in  a  house  ?"  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  she  did 
not  know  it,  but,  she  said,  she  wanted  me  to  stop 
talking  about  such  things.  "And  the  cricket," 
said  I,  "  how  cheerful  its  carol  on  the  approach  of 
winter."  Mrs.  S.  said  the  sound  of  a  cricket  made 
her  feel  melancholy.  "  And  the  altar  and  the 


80  SPAKKOWGKASS   PAPERS. 

hearth- stone :  symbols  of  religion  and  of  home ! 
Before  one  the  bride — beside  the  other  the  wife ! 
No  wonder,  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  they  are  sacred 
things;  that  mankind  have  ever  held  them  inviola 
ble,  and  preserved  them  from  sacrilege,  in  all  times, 
and  in  all  countries.  Do  you  know,"  said  I,  "  how 
dear  this  hearth  is  to  me  ?"  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass 
said,  with  hickory  wood  at  eight  dollars  a  cord,  it 
did  not  surprise  her  to  hear  me  grumble.  "  If 
wood  were  twenty  dollars  a  cord  I  would  not  com 
plain.  Here  we  have  everything — 

• content, 

Retirement,  rural  quiet,  friendship,  books, 
Ease  and  alternate  labor,  useful  life  ;' 

and  as  I  sit  before  our  household  altar,"  baid  I, 
placing  my  hand  upon  the  mantel,  "  with  you  be 
side  me,  Mrs.  S.,  I  feel  that  all  the  beautiful  fables 
of  poets  are  only  truths  in  parables  when  they 
relate  to  the  hearth-stone — the  heart-stone,  I  may 
say,  of  home !" 

This  tine  sentiment  did  not  move  Mrs.  Sparrow 
grass  a  whit.  She  said  she  was  sleepy.  After  all, 
I  begin  to  believe  sentiment  is  a  poor  thing  in  the 
country.  It  does  very  well  in  books,  and  on  the 


SENTIMENT.  81 

stage,  but  it  will  not  answer  for  the  rural  districts. 
The  country  is  too  genuine  and  honest  for  it.  It  is 
a  pretty  affectation,  only  fit  for  artificial  life.  Mrs. 
Peppergrass  may  wear  it,  with  her  rouge  -and  dia 
monds,  in  a  drawing-room,  but  it  will  not  pass  cur 
rent  here  ;  any  more  than  the  simulated  flush  of 
her  cheeks  can  compare  with  that  painted  in  the 
skin  of  a  rustic  beauty  by  the  sun  and  air. 

"  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,"  said  I,  "  let  us  have  some 
nuts  and  apples,  and  a  pitcher  of  Binghamton 
cider ;  we  have  a  good  cheerful  fire  to-night,  and 
why  should  we  not  enjoy  it?" 

"When  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  returned  from  giving 
directions  about  the  fruit  and  cider,  she  brought 
with  her  a  square,  paper  box  full  of  garden  seeds. 
To  get  good  garden  seeds  is  an  important  thing  in 
the  country.  If  you  depend  upon  an  agricultural 
warehouse  you  may  be  disappointed.  The  way  to 
do  is,  to  select  the  best  specimens  from  your  own 
raising:  then  you  are  sure  they  are  fresh,  at  least. 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  opened  the  box.  First  she  took 
out  a  package  of  seeds,  wrapped  up  in  a  newspaper 
— then  she  took  out  another  package  tied  up  in 
brown  paper — then  she  drew  forth  a  bundle  that 
was  pinned  up — then  another  that  was  taped  up — 


82  SPA KKOW GRASS   PAPERS. 

then  another  twisted  up — then  out  came  a  bursted 
package  of  watermelon  seeds — then  a  withered  ear 
of  corn — then  another  package  of  watermelon  seeds 
from  another  melon — then  a  handful  of  split  okra 
pods — then  handsful  of  beans,  peas,  squash  seeds, 
melon  seeds,  cucumber  seeds,  sweet  corn,  evergreen 
corn,  and  other  germs.  Then  another  bursted  paper 
of  watermelon  seeds.  There  were  watermelon 
seeds  enough  to  keep  half  the  county  supplied 
with  this  refreshing  article  of  luxury.  As  the  trea 
sures  were  spread  out  on  the  table,  there  came  over 
me  a  feeling  that  reminded  me  of  Christmas  times, 
when  the  young  ones  used  to  pant  down  stairs,  be 
fore  dawn,  lamp  in  hand,  to  see  the  kindly  toy-gifts 
of  Santa  Clans.  Then  the  Mental  Gardener,  taking 
Anticipation  by  the  hand,  went  forth  into  the 
future  garden  ;  peas  sprouted  out  in  round  leaves, 
tomato  put  forth  his  aromatic  spread ;  sweet  corn 
thrust  his  green  blades  out  of  many  a  hillock  ;  let 
tuce  threw  up  his  slender  spoons  ;  beans  shouldered 
their  way  into  the  world,  like  ^Encases,  with  the 
old  beans  on  their  backs;  and  watermelon  and 
cucumber,  in  voluptuous  play,  sported  over  the 
beds  like  truant  school-boys. 


PLANNING    A    GARDEN.  83 

"  Here  are  sweet  peas,  on  tiptoe  for  a  flight : 
With  wings  of  gentle  flush  o'er  delicate  white, 
And  taper  fingers  catching  at  all  things, 
To  bind  them  all  about  with  tiny  rings." 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  let  us 
arrange  these  in  proper  order ;  I  will  make  a  chart 
of  the  garden  on  a  piece  of  paper,  and  put  every 
thing  down  with  a  date,  to  be  planted  in  its  proper 
time."  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  she  thought  that 
an  excellent  plan.  "Yes,"  I  replied,  tasting  the 
cider,  "  we  will  make  a  garden  to-night  on  paper,  a 
ground  plan,  as  it  were,  and  plant  from  that ;  now, 
Mi*s.  S.,  read  off  the  different  packages."  Mrs.  Spar 
rowgrass  took  up  a  paper  and  laid  it  aside,  then 
another,  and  laid  it  aside.  "  I  think,"  said  she,  as 
the  third  paper  was  placed  upon  the  table,  "  I  did  not 
write  any  names  on  the  seeds,  but  I  believe  I  can 
tell  them  apart ;  these,"  said  she,  "  are  water 
melon."  "Very  well,  what  next?"  "The  next," 
said  Mrs.  S.,  "is  either  muskmelon  or  cucumber 
seed."  "  My  dear,"  said  I,  "  we  want  plenty  of 
melons,  for  the  summer,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  plant 
half  an  acre  of  pickles  by  mistake ;  can't  you  be 
sure  about  the  matter  ?"  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said 
she  could  not.  "  Well,  then,  lay  the  paper  down 


84  SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

and  call  off  the  next."  "  Tlie  next  are  not  radishes, 
I  know,"  said  Mrs.  S.,  "  they  must  be  summer  cab 
bages."  <;  Are  you  sure  now,  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  ?" 
said  I,  getting  a  little  out  of  temper.  Mrs.  Spar 
rowgrass  said  she  was  sure  of  it,  because  cabbage 
seed  looked  exactly  like  turnip  seed.  "  Did  you 
save  turnip  seed  also  ?"  said  I.  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass 
replied,  that  she  had  provided  some,  but  they  must 
be  in  another  paper.  "  Then  call  off  the  next ;  we 
will  plant  them  for  cabbages,  whether  or  no."  "  Here 
is  a  name,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  brightening  up. 
"  Read  it,"  said  I,  pen  in  hand.  "  Watermelons — 
not  so  good,"  said  Mrs.  S.  "  Lay  that  paper  with 
the  rest  and  proceed."  "  Corn,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrow 
grass,  with  a  smile.  "  Variety  ?"  "  Pop,  I  am 
sure."  "Good,  now  we  begin  to  see  daylight." 
"  Squash,"  said  Mi's.  Sparrowgrass.  "  Winter  or 
Summer  ?"  "  Both."  "  Lay  that  paper  aside,  my 
dear."  "Tomato."  "  Eed  or  yellow  ?"  Mrs. Spar 
rowgrass  said  she  had  pinned  up  the  one  and  tied 
up  the  other,  to  distinguish  them,  but  it  was  so  long 
ago,  she  had  forgot  which  was  which.  "Never 
mind,"  said  I,  "  there  is  one  comfort,  they  cannot 
bear  without  showing  their  colors.  Now  for  the 
next."  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said,  upon  tast  ig  th' 


A    DISSERTATION    ON    BEANS.        85 

tomato  seed,  she  was  sure  they  were  bell  peppers. 
"  Very  well,  so  much  is  gained,  we  are  sure  of  the 
capsicum.  The  next."  "  Beans,"  said  Mrs.  Spar- 
rowgrass. 

There  is  one  kind  of  bean,  in  regard  to  which  I 
have  a  prejudice.  I  allude  to  the  asparagus  bean, 
a  sort  of  long-winded  esculent,  inclined  to  be  pro 
lific  in  strings.  It  does  not  climb  very  high  on  the 
pole,  but  crops  out  in  an  abundance  of  pods,  usually 
not  shorter  than  a  bill  of  extras,  after  a  contract ; 
and  although  interesting  as  a  curious  vegetable, 
still  not  exactly  the  bean  likely  to  be  highly  com 
mended  by  your  city  guests,  when  served  up  to 
them  at  table.  "When  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  in  an 
swer  to  my  question,  as  to  the  particular  species  of 
bean  referred  to,  answered,  "  Li  mas,"  I  felt  relief 
at  once.  "  Put  the  Limas  to  the  right  with  the 
sheep,  Mrs.  S.,  and  as  for  the  rest  of  the  seeds  sweep 
them  into  the  refuse  basket.  I  will  add  another 
stick  to  the  fire,  pare  an  apple  for  you,  and  an 
apple  for  me,  light  a  cigar,  and  be  comfortable. 
"What  is  the  use  of  fretting  about  a  few  seeds  more 
or  less?  But,  next  year,  we  will  mark  all  the  pack 
ages  with  names,  to  prevent  mistakes,  won't  we, 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  ?" 


86  SPAKKOWGBASS   PAPERS. 

There  lias  been  a  great  change  in  the  atmosphere 
within  a  few  days.  The  maple  twigs  are  all  scar 
let  and  yellow  fringes,  the  sod  is  verdurous  and 
moist ;  in  the  morning  a  shower  of  melody  falls 
from  the  trees  around  us,  where  blue  birds  and 
"  pewees"  are  keeping  an  academy  of  music.  Off 
on  the  river  there  is  a  long  perspective  of  shad- 
poles,  apparently  stretching  from  shore  to  shore, 
and,  here  and  there,  a  boat,  with  picturesque  fish 
ermen,  at  work  over  the  gill-nets.  Now  and  then 
a  shad  is  held  up ;  in  the  distance  it  has  a  star-like 
glitter,  against  the  early  morning  sun.  The  fruit 
trees  are  bronzed  with  buds.  Occasionally  a  feeble 
fly  creeps  along,  like  a  valetudinarian  too  early  in 
the  season  at  a  watering-place.  The  marshes  are 
all  a-whistle  with  dissipated  bull-frogs,  who  keep 
up  their  revelry  at  unseemly  hours.  Our  great 
Polander  is  in  high  cluck,  and  we  find  eggs  in  the 
hens'  nests.  IT  is  SPRING  !  It  is  a  good  thing  to 
have  spring  in  the  country.  People  grow  young 
again  in  the  spring  in  the  country.  The  world,  the 
old  globe  itself,  grows  young  in  the  spring,  and 
why  not  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  ?  The  city,  in 
the  spring,  is  like  the  apples  of  Sodom,  "fair  and 
pleasant  to  behold,  but  dust  and  ashes  within."  But 


A    F  E  s  T  A  .  87 

who  shall  sing  or  say  what  spring  is  in  the  coun 
try? 

" To  what  shall  I  compare  it  ? 

It  has  a  glory,  and  naught  else  can  share  it : 
The  thought  thereof  is  awful,  sweet,  and  holy, 
Chasing  away  all  worldliness  and  folly." 

"  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,"  said  I,  "  the  weather  is 
beginning  to  be  very  warm  and  spring-like  ;  how 
would  you  like  to  have  a  little  festa  f"  Mrs.  Spar 
rowgrass  said  that,  in  her  present  frame  of  mind,  a 
fester  was  not  necessary  for  her  happiness.  I  re 
plied,  "  I  meant  a  festa,  not  a  fester ;  a  little  fete, 
a  few  friends,  a  few  flowers,  a  mild  sort  of  spring 
dinner,  if  you  please ;  some  music,  claret,  fresh 
lettuce,  lamb  and  spinach,  and  a  breakfast  of  eggs 
fresh  laid  in  the  morning,  with  rice  cakes  and 
coffee."  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  she  was  willing. 
"  Then,"  said  I,  "  Mrs.  S.,  I  will  invite  a  few  old 
friends,  and  we  will  have  an  elegant  time."  So, 
from  that  day  we  watched  the  sky  very  cleverly 
for  a  week,  to  ascertain  the  probable  course  of  the 
clouds,  and  consulted  the  thermometer  to  know 
what  chance  there  was  of  having  open  windows 
for  the  occasion.  The  only  drawback  that  stood  in 
the  way  of  perfect  enjoyment  was,  our  lawn  had 


88  SPARKOWGBASS    PAPERS. 

been  half  rooted  out  of  existence  by  an  irruption 
of  predatory  pigs.  It  was  vexatious  enough  to  see 
our  lawn  bottom-side  up  on  a  festive  occasion. 
But  I  determined  to  have  redress  for  it.  Upon 
consulting  with  the  best  legal  authority  in  the  vil 
lage,  I  was  told  that  I  could  obtain  damages  by 
identifying  the  animals,  and  commencing  suit 
against  the  owner.  As  I  had  not  seen  the  ani 
mals,  I  asked  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  if  she  could  iden 
tify  them.  She  said  she  could  not.  "Then,"  said 
I  to  my  legal  friend,  "what  can  I  do?"  He  replied 
that  he  did  not  know.  "  Then,"  said  I,  "  if  they 
come  again,  and  I  catch  them  in  the  act,  can  I  fire 
a  gun  among  them  ?"  He  said  I  could ;  but  that  I 
would  be  liable  for  whatever  damage  was  done  them. 
"  That,"  said  I,  "  would  not  answer ;  my  object  is  to 
make  the  owner  suffer,  not  the  poor  quadrupeds." 
He  replied  that  the  only  sufferers  would  probably 
be  the  pigs  and  myself.  Then  I  asked  him,  if  the 
owner  recovered  against  me,  whether  I  could  bring 
a  replevin  suit  against  him.  He  said  that,  under 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  such  a  suit 
could  be  brought.  I  asked  him  if  I  could  recover. 
He  said  I  could  not.  Then  I  asked  him  what 
remedy  I  could  have.  He  answered  that  if  I 


CONSTITUTIONAL    LAW.  89 

found  the  pigs  on  my  grounds,  I  could  drive  them 
to  the  pound,  then  call  upon  the  fence-viewers,  get 
them  to  assess  the  damages  done,  and  by  this  means 
mulct  the  owner  for  the  trespass.  This  advice 
pleased  me  highly ;  it  was  practical  and  humane. 
I  determined  to  act  upon  it,  and  slept  soundly 
upon  the  resolution.  The  next  day  our  guests 
came  up  from  town.  I  explained  the  lawn  to  them, 
and  having  been  fortified  on  legal  points,  instructed 
them  as  to  the  remedy  for  trespass.  The  day  was 
warm  and  beautiful ;  our  doors  and  windows  were 
thrown  wide  open.  By  way  of  offset  to  the  appear 
ance  of  the  lawn,  I  had  contrived,  by  purchasing 
an  expensive  little  bijou  of  a  vase,  and  filling  it 
with  sweet  breathing  flowers,  to  spread  a  rural  air 
of  fragrance  thoughout  the  parlor.  The  doors  ot 
the  bay-window  open  on  the  piazza ;  in  one  door 
way  stood  a  tray  of  delicate  confections,  upon  two 
slender  "quartette  tables.  These  were  put  in  the 
shade  to  keep  cool.  I  had  suborned  an  Italian  to 
bring  them  up  by  hand,  in  pristine  sharpness  and 
beauty  of  outline.  I  was  taking  a  glass  of  sherry 
with  our  old  friend,  Capt.  Bacon,  of  the  U.S.  Navy, 
when  suddenly  our  dogs  commenced  barking.  We 
keep  our  dogs  chained  up  by  daylight.  Looking 


90  SPARROWGRASS   PAPERS. 

over  my  glass  of  sherry,  I  observed  a  detachment 
of  the  most  villainous  looking  pigs  rooting  up  my 
early  pea-patch.  "  Now,"  said  I,  "  Captain,"  put 
ting  down  my  glass  deliberately,  "  I  will  show  you 
some  fun  ;  excuse  me  for  a  few  minutes  ;"  and  with 
that  I  bowed  significantly  to  our  festal  guests. 
They  understood  at  once  that  etiquette  must  give 
way  when  pea-patch,  was  about  being  annihila 
ted.  I  then  went  out,  unchained  the  dogs,  and 
commenced  driving  the  pigs  out  of  the  garden. 
After  considerable  trampling  of  all  my  early  vege 
tables,  under  the  eyes  of  my  guests,  I  managed  to 
get  the  ringleader  of  the  swinish  multitude  into  my 
parlor.  He  was  a  large,  powerful  looking  fellow, 
with  a  great  deal  of  comb,  long  legs,  mottled  com 
plexion,  and  ears  pretty  well  dogged.  He  stood 
for  a  moment  at  bay  against  the  sofa,  then  charged 
upon  the  dogs,  ran  against  the  centre  table,  which 
he  accidentally  upset,  got  headed  off  by  Captain 
Bacon,  who  came  to  the  rescue,  darted  under  our 
quartette  tables — making  a  general  distribution  of 
confectionery,  and  finally  got  cornered  in  the 
piazza. 

By  this  time  I  was  so  much  exasperated  that  I 
was  capable  of  taking  the  life  of  the  intruder,  and 


A  SEARCH  FOE  THE  POUND.   91 

probably  should  have  done  so  had  my  gun  not  been 
at  the  gunsmith's.  In  striking  at  him  with  a  stick, 
I  accidentally  hit  one  of  the  dogs  such  a  blow  as  to 
disable  him.  But  I  was  determined  to  capture  the 
destroyer  and  put  him  in  the  pound.  After  some 
difficulty  in  getting  him  out  of  the  piazza,  I  drove 
him  into  the  library  and  finally  out  in  the  ground. 
The  rest  of  his  confederates  were  there,  quietly 
feeding  on  the  remains  of  the  garden.  Finally  I 
found  myself  on  the  hot,  high  road,  with  all  my 
captives  and  one  dog,  in  search  of  the  pound.  Not 
knowing  where  the  pound  was,  after  driving  them 
for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  I  made  inquiry  of  a  respec 
table  looking  man,  whom  I  met,  in  corduroy 
breeches,  on  the  road.  He  informed  me  that  he 
did  not  know.  I  then  fell  in  with  a  colored  boy 
who  told  me  the  only  pound  was  at  Dobb's  Ferry. 
Dobb's  Ferry  is  a  thriving  village  about  seven 
miles  north  of  the  Nepperhan.  I  made  a  bargain 
with  the  colored  boy  for  three  dollars,  and  by  his 
assistance  the  animals  were  safely  lodged  in  the 
pound.  By  this  means  I  was  enabled  to  return  to 
my  guests.  Next  day  I  found  out  the  owner.  I 
got  the  fence-viewers  to  estimate  the  damages. 
The  fence-viewers  looked  at  the  broken  maho- 


92  SPAKKOWGKASS    PAPERS. 

gany  and  estimated.  I  spoke  of  the  vase,  the 
flowers,  [green-1  louse  flowers]  and  the  confection 
ery.  These  did  not  appear  to  strike  them  as  da 
mageable.  I  think  the  fence-viewers  are  not  libe 
ral  enough  in  their  views.  The  damages  done  to 
a  man's  temper  and  constitution  shall  be  included, 
if  ever  I  get  to  be  fence-viewer  ;  to  say  nothing  of 
exotics  trampled  under  foot,  and  a  beautiful  dessert 
ruthlessly  destroyed  by  unclean  animals.  Besides 
that,  we  shall  not  have  a  pea  until  everybody  else 
in  the  village  has  done  with  peas.  We  shall  be 
late  in  the  season  with  our  early  peas.  At  last  an 
advertisement  appeared  in  the  county  paper,  which 
contained  the  decision  of  the  fence-viewers,  to  wit  r 

WESTCHESTER  COUXTY,  ) 
Town  of  Yonkers.       ' 

WE,  THE  SUBSCRIBERS,  FENCE-VIEWERS  of  said  town,  having  been 
applied  to  by  Samson  Sparrowgrass  of  said  town  to  ap 
praise  the  damages  done  by  nine  hogs,  flve  wintered,  [four  spot 
ted  and  one  white,]  and  four  spring  pigs,  [two  white]  distrained 
by  him  doing  damage  on  his  lands,  and  having  been  to  the  place, 
and  viewed  and  ascertained  the  damages,  do  hereby  certify  the 
amount  thereof  to  be  three  dollars,  and  that  the  fees  for  our  services 
are  two  dollars.  Given  under  our  hands,  this  -  day  of  --  , 
185-. 

DAXIEL   MALMSEY, 
PETER  ASSMANSHAUSER, 


( 

,      j 


The  above  hogs  are  in  the  Pound  at  Dobb's  Ferry. 

CORNELIUS  CORKWOOD,  Pound  Master. 


TAKING    THINGS    EASY.  93 

"  Under  the  circumstances,"  said  I,  "  Mrs.  Spar- 
rowgrass,  what  do  you  think  of  the  pound  as  a 
legal  remedy?"  Mrs.  S.  said  it  was  shameful. 
"  So  I  think,  too ;  but  why  should  we  repine?  The 
birds  sing,  the  sky  is  blue,  the  grass  is  green  side 
up,  the  trees  are  full  of  leaves,  the  air  is  balmy, 
and  the  children,  God  bless  them !  are  happy. 
Why  should  we  repine  about  trifles?  If  we  want 
early  peas  we  can  buy  them,  and  as  for  the  vase, 
flowers,  and  confectionery,  they  would  have  been 
all  over  with,  by  this  time,  if  the  pigs  had  not  been 
here.  There  is  no  use  to  cry,  like  Alexander,  for 
another  world ;  let  us  enjoy  the  one  we  have,  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass." 


94:  SPAKKOWGKAGS   PAPERS. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

Mr.  Sparrowgrass  concludes  to  buy  a  Horse — Reminiscences  of  Bloomingdale — 
The  difference  between  now  and  then— A  Jlorae  as  can  go— An  Artist  Story 
— Godiva — Homeward  and  Outward  bound — The  Curtained  Dais  of  the  Life 
School — A  new  "  Lady  of  Coventry." 

I  HAVE  bought  me  a  horse !  A  horse  is  a  good 
thing  to  have  in  the  country.  In  the  city,  the  'per 
severing  streets  have  pushed  the  Bloomingdale 
road  out  of  reach.  Riding-habits  and  rosy  cheeks, 
bright  eyes,  round  hats  and  feathers,  are  banished 
from  the  metropolis.  There  are  no  more  shady  by 
paths  a  little  way  out  of  town  to  tempt  equestrians. 
There  are  no  visions  of  Die  Vernon  and  Frank 
Osbaldiston  at  "Burnam's"  now.  Romance  no 
longer  holds  the  bridle-rein  while  the  delicate  slip 
per  is  withdrawn  from  the  old  red  morocco  stirrup. 
A  whirl  of  dust,  a  glitter  of  wheels,  a  stretch  of 
tag-rag  and  bobtail  horses,  and  the  young  Poti- 
phars  are  contesting  time  with  Dusty  Bob  and  the 
exquisite  Mr.  Farobank.  That  is  the  picture  of  the 


"FANNY"  95 

.Bloomingdale  road  now.  It  is  the  everyday  pic 
ture  too.  Go  when  you  will,  you  see  the  tag-rag 
and  bobtail  horses,  the  cloud  of  dust,  the  whirl  of 
wheels,  the  young  Potiphars,  Dusty  Bob,  and  the 
elegant  Mr.  Farobank. 

There  was  a  time  when  I  could  steal  away  from 
the  dusky  counting-room  to  inhale  the  fragrant 
hartshorn  of  the  stable,  while  the  hostler  was  put 
ting  the  saddle  on  "  Fanny."  Fanny  was  a  blooded 
filly,  a  descendant  of  the  great  Sir  Henry.  Her 
education  had  been  neglected.  She  had  been 
broken  by  a  couple  of  wild  Irishmen,  who  used  to 
"  hurrup"  her,  barebacked,  morning  and  evening, 
through  the  lonely  little  street  in  the  lower  part  of 
the  city,  where  the  stable  was  situated.  As  a  conse 
quence,  the  contest  between  her  high  blood  and 
low  breeding  made  her  slightly  vicious.  The  first 
time  I  backed  her,  she  stood  still  for  half  an  hour, 
no  more  moved  by  the  whip  than  a  brass  filly 
would  have  been  ;  then  deliberately  walked  up  the 
street,  turned  the  corner  with  a  jump  that  almost 
threw  me  on  the  curb-stone,  then  ran  away,  got  on 
the  sidewalk,  and  stopped  suddenly,  with  her  fore 
feet  planted  firmly  in  front  of  a  steep  flight  of  area 
steps,  which  happened  to  be  filled  with  children. 


96  SPAKKOW GRASS    PAPERS. 

I  dismounted,  and,  in  no  time,  was  the  centre  of  an 
angry  swarm  of  fathers  and  mothers,  who  were 
going  to  immolate  me  on  the  spot  for  trying  to  ride 
down  their  ragged  offspring.  There  is  much  diffi 
culty  in  making  an  explanation  under  such  circum 
stances.  As  the  most  abusive  person  in  the  crowd 
happened  to  be  a  disinterested  stranger  who  was 
passing  by,  it  soon  became  a  personal  matter  be 
tween  two  of  us.  Accordingly,  I  asked  him  to  step 
aside,  which  he  did,  when  I  at  once  hired  him  to 
lead  the  filly  to  the  ferry.  Once  on  a  country  road, 
I  was  at  home  in  the  saddle,  and  a  few  days'  train 
ing  made  Fanny  tractable.  She  would  even  follow 
me  with  great  gentleness,  like  a  trained  dog,  and 
really  behaved  in  a  very  exemplary  way,  after 
throwing  me  twice  or  so.  Then  Fanny  and  I  were 
frequently  on  the  Bloomingdale  road,  in  summer 
evenings  and  mornings,  and  so  were  ladies  and 
gentlemen.  I  do  not  think  the  fine  buildings  that 
usurp  those  haunted  paths  an  improvement.  Those 
leafy  fringes  on  the  way-side  had  a  charm  that  free 
stone  cannot  give.  That  stretch  of  vision  over 
meadows,  boulders,  wild  shrubbery  and  uplifted 
trees,  down  to  the  blue  river,  is  not  compensated 
by  ornate  facades,  cornices,  and  vestibules.  Where 


BUYING    A     II  o  K  s  E  .  97 

are  the  birds  ?  In  my  eyes,  the  glimmer  of  sultry 
fire-flies  is  pleasanter  in  a  summer  night  than  the 
perspective  gas-lights  in  streets. 

"  There's  not  a  charm  improvement  gives  like  those  it  takes  away, 
When  the  shadowing  trees  are  stricken  down  because  they  do 

not  pay ; 
'Tis  not  from  youth's  smooth  cheek  the  blush  of  health  alone  is 

past, 
But  the  tender  bloom  of  heart  departs,  by  driving  horses  fast." 

Poor  Fanny  !  my  Bloomingdale  bride  !  I  believe 
I  was  her  only  patron  ;  and  when  the  stable  burnt 
down,  she  happened  to  be  insured,  and  her  merce 
nary  owner  pocketed  her  value  with  a  grin. 

I  have  bought  me  a  horse.  As  I  had  obtained 
some  skill  in  the  manege  during  my  younger  days, 
it  was  a  matter  of  consideration  to  have  a  saddle- 
horse.  It  surprised  me  to  find  good  saddle-horses 
very  abundant  soon  after  my  consultation  -with  the 
stage-proprietor  upon  this  topic.  There  were 
strange  saddle-horses  to  sell  almost  every  day 
One  man  was  very  candid  about  his  horse  :  he  told 
me,  if  his  horse  had  a  blemish,  he  wouldn't  wait  to 
be  asked  about  it ;  he  would  tell  it  right  out ;  and, 
if  a  man  didn't  want  him  then,  he  needn't  take  him. 


98  SPARKOWGKASS   PAPEES. 

He  also  proposed  to  put  him  on  trial  for  sixty  days, 
giving  his  note  for  the  amount  paid  him  for  the 
horse,  to  be  taken  up  in  case  the  animal  were 
returned.  I  asked  him  what  were  the  principal 
defects  of  the  horse.  He  said  he'd  been  fired  once, 
because  they  thought  he  was  spavined ;  but  there 
was  no  more  spavin  to  him  than  there  was  to  a  fresh- 
laid  egg — he  was  as  sound  as  a  dollar.  I  asked  him 
if  he  would  just  state  what  were  the  defects  6f  the 
horse.  He  answered,  that  he  once  had  the  pink 
eye,  and  added,  "  now  that's  honest."  I  thought 
so,  but  proceeded  to  question  him  closely.  I  asked 
him  if  he  had  the  bots.  He  said,  not  a  bot.  I 
asked  him  if  he  would  go.  He  said  he  would  go 
till  he  dropped  down  dead  ;  just  touch  him  with  a 
whip,  and  he'll  jump  out  of  his  hide.  I  inquired 
how  old  he  was.  He  answered,  just  eight  years, 
exactly — some  men,  he  said,  wanted  to  make  their 
horses  younger  than  they  be  ;  he  was  willing  to 
speak  right  out,  and  own  up  he  was  eight  years. 
I  asked  him  if  there  were  any  other  objections. 
He  said  no,  except  that  he  was  inclined  to  be  a  lit 
tle  gay  ;  "but,"  he  added,  "  he  is  so  kind,  a  child 
can  drive  him  with  a  thread."  I  asked  him  if  he 
was  a  good  family  horse.  He  replied  that  no  lady 


A    LOOK    AT    A    HOKSE.  99 

that  ever  drew  rein  over  him  would  be  willing  to 
part  with  him.  Then  I  asked  him  his  price.  He 
answered  that  no  man  could  have  bought  him  for 
one  hundred  dollars  a  month  ago,  but  now  he  was 
willing  to  sell  him  for  seventy-five,  on  account  of 
having  a  note  to  pay.  This  seemed  such  a  very 
low  price,  I  was  about  saying  I  would  take  him, 
when  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  whispered,  that  I  had  Let 
ter  see  the  horse  first.  I  confess  I  was  a  little  afraid 
of  losing  my  bargain  by  it,  but,  out  of  deference  to 
Mrs.  S.,  I  did  ask  to  see  the  horse  before  I  bought 
him.  He  said  he  would  fetch  him  down.  "]STo 
man,"  he  added,  "  ought  to  buy  a  horse  unless  he's 
saw  him."  "When  the  horse  came  down,  it  struck 
me  that,  whatever  his  qualities  might  be,  his  per 
sonal  appearance  was  against  him.  One  of  his  fore 
legs  was  shaped  like  the  handle  of  our  punch-ladle, 
and  the  remaining  three  legs,  about  the  fetlock, 
were  slightly  bunchy.  Besides,  he  had  no  tail  to 
brag  of ;  and  his  back  had  a  very  hollow  sweep, 
from  his  high  haunches  to  his  low  shoulder-blades. 
I  was  much  pleased,  however,  with  the  fondness 
and  pride  manifested  by  his  owner,  as  he  held  up, 
by  both  sides  of  the  bridle,  the  rather  longish  head 
of  his  horse,  surmounting  a  neck  shaped  like  a  pea- 


100         SPAKROWGBASS   PAPEKS. 

pod,  and  said,  in  a  sort  of  triumphant  voice,  "  three- 
quarters  blood  !"  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  flushed  up  a 
little,  when  she  asked  me  if  I  intended  to  purchase 
that  horse,  and  added,  that,  if  I  did,  she  would 
never  want  to  ride.  So  I  told  the  man  he  would 
not  suit  me.  He  answered  bj  suddenly  throwing 
himself  upon  his  stomach  across  the  back-bone  of 
his  horse,  and  then,  by  turning  round  as  on  a  pivot, 
got  up  a-straddle  of  him  ;  then  he  gave  his  horse  a 
kick  in  the  ribs  that  caused  him  to  jump  out  with 
all  his  legs,  like  a  frog,  and  then  off  went  the  spoon- 
legged  animal  with  a  gait  that  was  not  a  trot,  nor 
yet  precisely  pacing.  He  rode  around  our  grass 
plot  twice,  and  then  pulled  his  horse's  head  up  like 
the  cock  of  a  musket.  "  That,"  said  he,  "  is  time" 
I  replied  that  he  did  seem  to  go  pretty  fast. 
"Pretty  fast!"  said  his  owner.  ""Well,  do  you 

know  Mr. ?"  mentioning  one  of  the  richest 

men  in  our  village.  I  replied  that  I  was  acquainted 
with  him.  "  "Well,"  said  he,  "  you  know  his  horse?" 
I  replied  that  I  had  no  personal  acquaintance  with 
him.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  he's  the  fastest  horse  in 
the  county — jist  so — I'm  willin'  to  admit  it.  But 
do  you  know  I  offered  to  put  my  horse  agin'  his  to 
trot  ?  I  had  no  money  to  put  up,  or,  rayther,  to 


"Go  DIVA."  101 

spare ;  but  I  offered  to  trot  him,  horse  agin'  horse, 
and  the  winner  to  take  both  horses,  and  I  tell  you 
— he  wouldn't  do  it  !  " 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  got  a  little  nervous,  and 
twitched  me  by  the  skirt  of  the  coat.  "  Dear," 
said  she,  "  let  him  go."  I  assured  her  I  would  not 
buy  the  horse,  and  told  the  man  firmly  I  would  not 
buy  him.  He  said  very  well — if  he  didn't  suit 
'twas  no  use  to  keep  a-talkin' :  but  he  added,  he'd 
be  down  agin'  with  another  horse,  next  morning, 
that  belonged  to  his  brother ;  and  if  he  didn't  suit 
me,  then  I  didn't  want  a  horse.  With  this  remark 
he  rode  off. 

When  I  reached  our  rural  dwelling  in  the  even 
ing,  I  brought  with  me  the  pleasant  memory  of  a 
story  I  had  heard  amid  the  crash  and  roar  of  the 
great  city.  To  preserve  it,  I  wTrote  it  down  on 
paper.  Then  I  brought  it  in  to  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass, 
and,  with  a  sort  of  premonitory  smile,  asked  her  if 
she  remembered  "  Godiva."  Mrs.  S.  seemed  puz 
zled  at  the  question.  I  believe  she  was  enumera 
ting  the  names  of  our  former  servant  girls  in  her 
mind — girls  that  had  been  discharged  or  gone  off 
of  themselves,  from  a  disinclination  to  cleanliness, 
coupled  with  a  certain  amount  of  work.  "  Godiva," 


102          SPAKKOW GRASS    PAPEKS. 

said  I,  "  or  Godina,  was  the  wife  of  Lord  Leofrick, 
of  Coventry,  in  Warwickshire,  England.  He  op 
pressed  the  citizens  with  heavy  taxes,  and  destroyed 
their  privileges.  His  wife  interceded  with  him, 
begged  him  to  remit  the  weighty  burden  for  her 
sake.  In  jest,  he  promised  to  do  so  upon  one  con 
sideration."  "  I  remember  it,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrow- 
grass.  "  The  condition  was,  that  she  should  ride 
through  the  streets  of  Coventry  stark  naked." 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  blushed  up  to  her  eyes.  ' '  But, 
like  a  noble  woman,  she  undertook  the  task,  and 
redeemed  their  liberties,  by  fulfilling  his  jest  in 
earnest."  "  Poor  thing,"  said  Mrs.  S.  "  You  re 
member,"  I  continued,  "  how  splendidly  Tennyson 
has  painted  the  legend  : 

'  Then  fled  she  to  her  inmost  bower,  and  there 
TJnclasp'd  the  wedded  eagles  of  her  belt, 
The  grim  Earl's  gift ;  but  ever  at  a  breath 
She  lingered,  looking  like  a  summer  moon, 
Half  dipt  in  cloud  :  anon  she  shook  her  head, 
And  shower'd  the  rippled  ringlets  to  her  knee  ; 
Unclad  herself  in  haste  ;  adown  the  stair 
Stole  on  ;  and,  like  a  creeping  sumbeam,  slid 
From  pillar  unto  pillar,  until  she  reached 
The  gateway  ;  there  she  found  her  palfry  trapt 


THE    NEW    GODIVA.  103 

In  purple  blazoned  with  armorial  gold. 
Then  she  rode  forth,  clothed  on  in  chastity.'  " 

"  How  noble  !"  said  Mrs.  S.  "  Yes,"  I  replied, 
"  and  now,  after  this,  I  want  to  read  you  my  story. 
I  call  it 

THE     NEW     GODIVA. 

Sometime  after  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and 
fifty,  a  young  Englishman  landed  at  one  of  the 
quays  that  afford  accommodation  to  packet  ships, 
around  the  city  of  New  York  He  had  come  to  the 
New  World  full  of  hope  and  enthusiasm,  and  he 
stepped  upon  the  quay  without  a  penny  in  his 
pocket.  Seldom  does  an  American  find  himself  in 
this  condition,  in  a  foreign  port.  Here  it  is  so 
familiar,  so  much  of  an  every-day  occurrence,  that 
sympathy  has  grown  callous  to  the  repetition  of  the 
old  story ; — so  this  emigrant  found,  by  bitter  expe 
rience.  His  fine,  intelligent  face,  under  a  check- 
cloth  cap,  presented  itself  at  various  counting-rooms 
of  the  city.  Check-cloth  caps,  in  search  of  employ 
ment,  are  common  enough;  and  few  merchants 
can  spare  time  to  analyze  the  lineaments  of  a  fine, 
intelligent  countenance. 

So  the  young  emigrant  found  no  employment  in 


104          SPARROW GRASS    PAPERS. 

the  busy,  active  city ;  the  fine,  intelligent  counte 
nance  suffered  by  unwholesome  resting-places, 
among  funeral  mahogany  at  night,  and  by  pride 
struggling  with  hunger  in  the  day,  until  at  last  the 
check-cloth  cap  bent  over  a  stone  mallet  to  beat 
down  the  city  cobble  stones,  for  a  corporation  con 
tractor.  Oh,  the  dreary,  desolate  city,  crowded 
with  strangers  !  Oh,  the  bright  alien  sunshine, 
that  never  lighted  up  a  sympathetic  face  !  Oh,  the 
green  shores  of  Merrie  England,  that  he  had  seen 
sinking  in  the  distant  sea,  with  misty  eyes  !  There 
they  all  were  ;  mother  and  brothers,  and  she,  the 
dear  one — all !  and  every  blow  of  the  stone-ram 
mer  went  down  like  a  sob.  In  no  period  of  life  is 
disappointment  so  poignant  as  in  youth.  The 
dreams  of  maturity  are  limited  by  experience,  and 
the  awakening  is  almost  anticipated.  But  youth 
believes  its  gorgeous  visions,  and  looks  upon  the 
real,  work-day  world  as  a  monstrous  fable.  But, 
oh,  the  touch  of  the  Ithuriel  spear  ! 

The  stone-rammer,  for  months,  steadily  beat 
down  the  cobble-stones.  The  check-cloth  cap  had 
lost  its  pristine  freshness  ;  the  fine,  intelligent  coun 
tenance  became  dead,  dull,  apathetic.  There  was 
a  trifling  sum  deposited  weekly  in  the  Emigrants' 


THE    HEW    GODIVA.  105 

Saving  Bank.  It  was  all  withdrawn  one  day.  It 
was  the  day  the  "  Devonshire "  Liverpool  packet 
sailed.  From  that  day  the  check-cloth  cap,  and  the 
fine,  intelligent  countenance  were  seen  no  more  by 
the  corporation  contractor. 

The  "  Devonshire "  packet  ship  had  a  fine  pas 
sage  out,  and  was  beating  up  towards  the  Mersey 
in  little  more  than  a  fortnight  after  she  bade  fare 
well  to  the  American  city.  There  she  met  another 
packet  ship,  outward  bound.  The  ships  came  so 
near  each  other  that  passengers  could  recognize 
faces  on  either  deck.  Amid  the  multitude  of  emi 
grants,  thronging  the  side  of  the  outward-bound 
packet,  one  face  had  particularly  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  passengers  on  the  "  Devonshire." 
It  was  that  of  an  emigrant  girl,  a  right  English  face, 
in  a  Dunstable  bonnet,  but  still  strikingly  lovely. 
It  was  a  face  not  simply  beautiful  only,  it  was 
ideally  so  ;  one  of  those  faces  to  inspire  love  in  a 
woman,  adoration  in  a  man,  and  respect  in  coarser 
natures.  It  was  not  surprising,  then,  when  one  of 
the  younger  passengers  on  the  "  Devonshire"  pro 
posed  at  dinner,  "  the  health  of  that  English  girl" 
that  everybody  understood  it — that  ladies  and  all 
joined  in  the  toast  with  enthusiasm. 


106         SPAKKO WGB ASS   PAPERS. 

One  person  alone,  a  steerage  passenger  on  the 
"Devonshire,"  had  been  insensible  to  the  excite 
ment  occasioned  by  the  passing  ships.  From  the 
time  the  blue  land  hove  in  sight,  the  inevitable 
check-cloth  cap,  and  fine  intelligent  countenance 
had  been  turned  shorewards,  from  the  bowsprit. 
Never  once  had  that  eager  gaze  been  diverted  from 
the  land;  never  once  had  it  turned  towards  the 
packet,  outward  bound  ! 

A  fragment  of  his  history  must  be  inserted  in  the 
mosaic  of  the  story.  When  he  left  home  to  seek 
his  fortune  in  the  Western  republic,  he  did  so  with 
a  feeling,  a  faith  that  seemed  prophetic  of  success. 
-His  talents,  for  he  had  talents ;  his  perseverance, 
for  he  had  perseverance  ;  his  indefatigable  industry, 
for  he  had  that  also,  assured  him  there  could  be  no 
failure.  Nor  would  there  have  been,  in  time.  In 
dustry,  perseverance,  and  talent,  may  fearlessly 
begin  with  the  stone  rammer,  or  even  with  a  lower 
calling.  Begin,  begin,  somewhere — anywhere — 
only  begin.  There  is  no  position,  no  dignity,  with 
out  the  inevitable  steps.  If  need  be,  take  the 
lowest  and  surmount  them.  Here,  then,  might 
have  been  laid  the  foundation  of  his  fortunes,  had 
pride  permitted;  but  that  young,  ardent  spirit, 


THE    NEW    GODIVA.  107 

crushed  by  drudgery,  saw  the  future  only  as  a  con 
tinuation  of  the  present ;  the  busy  world  had  rudely 
thrust  him  aside ;  it  is  true,  pride  had  succumbed 
to  hunger,  and  beat  down  the  cobble  stones,  but 
this,  to  him,  was  not  the  dawn  of  hope,  but  the 
sequel.  Henceforth,  one  thought  controlled  his 
mind.  "  Home,  home !  return,  return !"  rang  out 
from  the  flinty  pavements.  There  was  the  face  of 
mother,  there  were  the  faces  of  brothers,  there  was 
her  face,  the  face  of  his  beloved  one — his  betrothed, 
to  whom,  in  his  anguish,  he  had  not  written  since 
he  first  stepped  upon  the  shores  of  the  busy,  heart 
less  New  "World.  "Home,  home!"  was  the  con 
stant  burthen,  until  the  "  Devonshire"  packet  car 
ried  him,  with  his  slender  fortunes,  once  more 
across  the  Atlantic.  What  was  that  outward-bound 
ship  to  him,  when  his  eyes  were  fixed  again  on 
Merrie  England,  where  they  all  were  ? 

Not  very  long  after  this  period,  Mr.  Ultramarine, 
the  famous  artist,  was  arranging  the  drapery  on  his 
lay-figure.  A  lay-figure  is  a  huge  doll,  usually 
about  five  feet  three  in  height,  kept  in  artists' 
studios.  Its  joints  are  flexible,  back,  arms,  neck, 
et  cetera,  movable  at  will ;  it  can  be  made  to  stand 
up,  to  sit  down  or  lie  down,  in  fact,  may  be  put  in 


108          SPARKOWGRASS    PAPERS. 

any  posture  ;  its  limbs,  bust,  body,  are  stuffed  out 
so  as  to  cleverly  represent  womanity,  in  perfect 
and  divine  proportions  ;  its  ordinary  use  is  to  be 
dressed  up  as  a  lady,  and  to  act  as  such  in  the  stu 
dio.  For  example,  Mrs.  Honiton  is  sitting  for  her 
portrait,  the  lovely  face,  the  rounded  arms,  the  ta 
per  fingers,  are  transferred  to  the  canvas ;  but  Mrs. 
Honiton's  elaborate  dress  must  also  be  painted,  and 
a  two  hours'  sitting,  day  after  day,  is  tiresome  and 
tedious.  The  lay-figure  then  becomes  useful,  and 
plays  a  brief  part  in  society.  For  a  period,  it  re 
presents  Mrs.  Honiton.  While  Mr.  Ultramarine  is 
finishing  the  picture,  it  wears  her  brocades,  velvets, 
shawl,  bertha,  bracelets,  lace-sleeves,  with  becom 
ing  dignity.  There  is  one  peculiarity  in  lay  figures, 
sometimes  objectionable.  They  are  apt  to  transfer 
an  air  of  stiffness  to  the  likeness ;  this,  however, 
may  be  also  in  the  original,  and  then  the  effect  is 
wonderful. 

Mr.  Ultramarine  could  not  arrange  the  drapery 
on  the  lay-figure  to  suit  his  fancy.  The  delicate, 
careless  curve  of  Mrs.  Honiton's  arm,  holding  the 
thrown-off  shawl,  was  beyond  the  lay- figure's 
ability.  So  Mr.  Ultramarine  gave  it  up,  and  went 
on  setting  his  pallet,  with  now  and  then  a  fiendish 


THE    NEW    GODIVA.  109 

look  at  his  lay-figure.  There  was  that  rigid  arm, 
stiffly  holding  out  the  shawl,  with  the  precision  of 
porcelain ;  completely  excluding  the  idea  Mr.  U. 
wished  to  portray,  of  carelessness. 

There  is  always,  in  every  studio,  of  every  artist 
in  the  city  of  New  York,  in  the  morning,  before 
visitors  arrive,  a  respectable,  elderly  female.  Her 
duties  are  sweeping  and  dusting.  By  constantly 
breathing  its  magic  atmosphere,  she  often  gains  an 
intuitive  conception  of  art,  beyond  even  the  skill 
of  the  newspaper  critic.  The  respectable  elderly 
female  who  was  putting  Mr.  Ultramarine  to  rights, 
understood  the  difficulty  at  once.  She  glanced  at 
the  artist  and  at  the  shawled  manikin.  Then  she 
hushed  the  music  of  the  broom,  and  said,  timidly, 
"  Please,  sir,  there  is  a  poor  creature,  a  young  Eng 
lish  girl,  sir,  at  my  room,  a  living  with  me,  that 
would  be  glad  to  earn  a  shilling  or  two  ;  and  she 
would  hold  yon  shawl  just  as  you  want  it."  Mr. 
Ultramarine  squeezed  a  little  vermilion  out  of  the 
capsule  upon  his  pallet,  and  looked  up.  "  Hum," 
he  replied,  "  a  coarse  creature,  I  presume."  This 
was  said  in  a  kind  voice,  with  a  lingering  accent 
on  "  coarse  creature,"  that  did  not  convey  harsh 
ness  by  any  means.  "  No,  sir,"  she  answered,  "  I 


110  SPARROW  GRASS   PAPERS. 

would  call  her  an  English  beauty.  The  finest  face 
and  figure,  sir."  "  Dear  me,"  said  the  artist,  "  why- 
did  you  not  speak  of  it  before  ?  Can  you  bring  her 
now,  Mrs.  Hill  ?"  "  1  can,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  im- 
megently."  So  Mrs.  Hill  left  the  studio  for  the 
model,  and  Mr.  U.  went  on  preparing  Mrs.  Honi- 
ton's  toilet  on  his  pallet.  He  squeezed  a  tiny  pod 
of  blue  in  one  place,  then  mixed  it  with  white,  in  a 
variety  of  tints ;  then  he  smeared  another  place 
over  with  Vandyke  brown;  then  he  dropped  a 
curious  little  worm  of  yellow  ochre,  out  of  another 
capsule  ;  then  the  pallet-knife  dipped  into  a  patch 
of  white,  and  then  the  ochre  was  graduated  into 
various  tints ;  then  he  dug  a  mass  of  magilp  out  of 
a  bottle,  and  put  that  on  the  board;  then  glanced 
on  the  lovely  Honiton,  and  again  took  up  another 
capsule,  from  which  he  pressed  a  cogent  blush  of 
carmine.  Then  the  door  opened,  after  a  short 
knock,  and  in  walked  Mrs.  Hill  and  the  model. 
Under  a  plain  English  bonnet  was  the  same  face 
the  passengers  on  the  "  Devonshire "  had  seen 
looking  over  the  side  of  the  packet,  outward-bound. 
Mr.  Ultramarine  was  a  painter,  and  felt  the 
divine  inspiration  of  his  profession  realized  in  that 
face.  But  when  the  model  had  been  arrayed  by 


THE    NEW    GODIVA.  Ill 

Mrs.  Hill  in  the  ante-room  in  the  splendid  dress  of 
Mrs.  Honiton,  and  stood  upon  the  dais,  the  effect 
was  bewildering.  "  Such,"  said  the  artist  to  him 
self,  "  was  the  face  Raphael  knew  and  painted,  and 
men  turned  from  Divinity  to  worship  art  in  the 
ideal  Virgin.  It  is  not  surprising  the  church  has 
made  so  many  proselytes." 

Mr.  Ultramarine  was  an  artist ;  he  set  to  work 
manfully  and  painted  the  shawl.  There  was  an 
ease  and  grace  in  the  careless  curve  of  the  living 
arm  holding  it,  that  made  lay-figure  absolutely 
repulsive.  He  put  lay -figure  in  one  corner  of  his 
studio,  and  covered  her  all  over  with  old  coats, 
pantaloons,  a  rug,  and  bit  of  curtain,  besides  piling 
on  his  fishing-rod,  and  laying  a  cracked  pallet  on 
top,  by  way  of  cap-stone.  In  a  few  days  Mrs. 
Honiton  was  done.  Alas,  Mr.  Ultramarine  had  not 
another  lady  sitter  j  ust  then  ;  there  were  a  score  of 
gentlemen  whose  portraits  had  to  be  painted. 
They  must  be  painted  ;  he  had  a  family  to  support, 
and  not  much  to  do  it  with.  He  must  pay  the 
model  and  send  her  away.  So  he  told  her  simply 
and  kindly,  and  then 

The  model  turned  deadly  pale,  essayed  to  speak, 
failed,  and  fainted  outright. 


112         SPAKROW GRASS    PAPERS. 

Mr.  Ultramarine  took  it  into  his  head  that  the 
model  had  fallen  in  love  with  him.  Never  was  he 
more  mistaken,  nor  more  relieved  when  he  found 
he  was  mistaken.  He  carried  the  helpless  form  to 
a  chair,  bathed  the  Madonna  face  with  water,  and 
brought  the  model  to. 

Then  came  the  story.  She  was  betrothed ;  her 
lover  had  left  England  for  America  months  ago ; 
she  had  waited  patiently  to  hear  from  him  by  let 
ter  ;  steamer  after  steamer  arrived,  but  no  letter. 
In  the  seclusion  of  her  native  village  suspense  had 
become  intolerable.  She  determined  to  follow  him. 
Not  for  an  instant  doubting  his  faith,  but  fearing 
all  that  woman  can  fear  save  that.  Never  did  she 
think  she  could  not  find  him ;  no,  not  if  he  were  in 
the  world.  She  had  traced  him  even  in  the  wilder 
ness  of  New  York,  until  at  last  she  found  he  had 
taken  passage  to  England  again  by  the  "  Devon 
shire."  For  her  there  was  but  one  thought,  one 
hope,  one  overpowering  desire.  That  was  also  to 

return,  speedily,  instantly,  if  possible,  but she 

was  almost  penniless. 

When  she  had  concluded,  a  bright  idea  sug 
gested  itself  to  Mr.  Ultramarine,  and  played  with  a 
lambent  light  over  his  features.  "  My  child,"  said 


THE    NKW    GODIVA.  113 

lie,  "  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  assist  you 
with  means  sufficient  for  your  purpose,  but  I  can 
tell  you  of  a  way  by  which  you  can  make  enough 
to  enable  you  to  return,  and  make  it  speedily  too. 
We  are  in  want  of  a  nude  model  for  the  National 
Academy  of  Design.  Our  present  models  have 
been  so  long  on  the  carpet  that  they  have  grown 
too  stringy  even  for  high  art.  You  understand  me, 
we  are  in  want  of  a  nude  model  for  the  life  school. 
If  you  will  consent  to  sit,  you  can  speedily  earn 
enough  to  enable  you  to  return,  say  in  a  few 
weeks." 

What  was  passing  in  that  young  mind  while  the 
artist  was  saying  this,  in  a  plain  matter-of-fact  way  ? 
What  terrible  thoughts  were  being  balanced  there  ? 
What  years  of  blinding  toil,  to  earn  even  a  pittance 
for  daily  support,  with  no  hope  of  regaining  far-off 
England,  were  being  weighed  against  this  startling 
alternative  ?  With  all  there  was  a  little  flush  of 
hope  ; — in  a  month  she  could  be  on  the  broad 
ocean  ;  once  more  she  would  see  him  for  whom  she 
had  suffered  so  much ;  and  in  that  pure,  maiden 
heart  arose  the  determination  to  make  the  sacrifice. 
So,  when  the  burning  blush  left  her  features,  and 
she  had  heard  all,  it  was  a  face  as  calm  as  marble 


SPARROW  GRASS  PAPERS. 


that  bowed  assent,  meekly  but  firmly,  and  then  she 
went  forth  from  the  studio. 

In  the  National  Academy  of  Design  there  are 
two  schools  of  art  —  the  Antique  and  the  Life.  The 
first  comprises  casts  of  the  famous  statues,  the  Far- 
nese  Hercules,  the  Venus  de  Medici,  the  Apollo 
Belvidere,  Thorwaldsen's  Mercury  with  the  pipe, 
and  Venus  with  the  apple,  the  Nymph  of  the  bath, 
Venus  Victrix,  the  Greek  Suppliant,  and  other  im 
mortal  achievements.  Here  the  neophytes  of  the 
Academy  assemble  in  winter  to  draw  from  the 
casts.  In  the  adjoining  room  maturer  students 
copy  from  life.  In  no  place  is  the  ennobling  influ 
ence  of  art  more  apparent  than  in  the  Life-school. 
The  sacred  stillness  of  the  place,  the  calm,  earnest 
faces  of  the  sketchers,  the  statue-like  repose  of  the 
living  model  ;  the  analytical  experience  constantly 
suggested  by  the  nude  figure  —  the  muscles,  first 
round  and  firm,  then  flattened,  then  lax  and 
shrunken  by  the  hour's  duty,  teaching  the  physical 
aspects  of  nature  in  various  conditions,  from  which 
the  true  painter  draws  the  splendid  corollary, 
"  that  art  represents  nature  lest,  when  art  compre 
hends  nature  in  all  its  developments" 

Was  there  no  shrinking  in  that  young  creature's 


THE    NEW    GODIVA..  115 

heart  when  they  had  left  her  alone  in  the  unrobing 
room  ?  "Was  there  no  touch  of  unconscious  pride 
as  she  stood  at  last,  in  her  abundant  beauty,  before 
the  mirror?  Did  she  not  hesitate  as  she  opened 
the  door,  and  stepped  forth  upon  the  curtained 
dais  ?  Or,  was  that  pure,  innocent  breast  so  unsul 
lied,  that  even  to  shame  it  was  alien  ?  The  truly 
good  alone  can  answer  this  question-. 

To  the  most  discreet,  the  wisest,  and  the  gravest 
counsellors  of  the  Academy  is  confided  the  delicate 
task  of  arranging  iliepose  of  the  nude  model  on  the 
dais.  Then  the  curtains  are  drawn,  and  the  figure 
is  revealed  to  the  students.  There  are  usually  three 
of  these  counsellors  ;  for,  "  in  a  multitude  of  coun 
sellors  is  wisdom."  This  time  no  artistic  interfe 
rence  was  needed.  The  natural  posture  of  the 
nude  figure  upon  the  dais-sofa  was  one  of  such  ex 
quisite  grace  that  it  rivalled  even  the  Greek  mar 
ble.  So  the  wise  greybeards  of  the  Academy  be 
sought  the  model  to  sit  perfectly  still,  and  with  this 
slight  premonition,  the  curtains  were  swept  away, 
and  a  flood  of  light  fell  upon  the  dais  and  Godiva. 

Thou  white  chastity  !  Amid  that  blaze  of  eager 
eyes  now  fastened  upon  thy  beauties,  there  is  not  a 
soul  so  base  as  to  harbor  one  evil  thought  of  thee  ! 


116         SPARROW GRASS    PAPERS. 

Here,  where  "  art's  pure  dwellers  are,"  thou  art 
secure  as  in  a  shrine ! 

The  hour's  probation  is  over :  the  curtains  close. 
And  now  the  touching  history  of  her  love  is  told 
by  Mr.  Ultramarine  to  the  listening  students,  and 
ere  the  Madonna  face  is  hidden  again  in  the  Dun- 
stable  bonnet,  the  artists  before  the  curtain  have 
a  little  gift  for 'the  model.  It  is  a  purse,  not  heavy, 
but  sufficient.  Young  artists  cannot  give  much. 
But  there  was  an  unanimous  determination  that 
she  should  be  protected  by  them  until  such  time  as 
she  could  be  safely  placed  on  a  steamer  "outward 
bound."  And  before  a  week  had  elapsed  she  stood 
again  upon  a  deck ;  and  never  were  farewells, 
waved  to  the  departing  passengers  of  the  "  Atlan 
tic,"  fuller  of  generous  sympathy,  than  those  that 
bade  adieu  to  Godiva ! 


"  Is  that  all  ?"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  as  I  rolled 
up  the  manuscript.  "  That  is  all,  my  dear." 
"Did  she  find  her  lover?"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass. 
"  I  do  not  know,"  I  replied ;  "  but  I  suppose  she 
did."  "I  hope  she  did,"  said  Mrs.  S.,  "from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  I  do." — (A  pause.) — "  Come," 


EXPECT  THE  OTHEK  HOUSE.   11Y 

said  I,  "  it  is  late.  To-morrow  we  must  rise  early, 
for  you  know  the  man  is  to  bring  the  other  horse 
here  ; — the  one  that  belongs  to  his  brother,  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass." 


118          SPARROW GRASS   PAPERS. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

A  Horse  of  another  color — Ancient  and  Modern  Points  of  a  Horse — A  suspected 
Organ  and  Retrograde  Movement— Mr.  Sparrowgrass  buys  the  Horse  that 
belongs  to  the  Man's  Brother — A  valuable  Hint  as  to  Stable-building — A 
Morning  Ride,  and  a  Discovery— Old  Dockweed— An  Evening  Ride,  and  a 
Catastrophe. 

"!T  rains  very  hard,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass, 
looking  out  of  the  window  next  morning.  Sure 
enough,  the  rain  was  sweeping  broadcast  over  the 
country,  and  the  four  Sparrowgrassii  were  flatten 
ing  a  quartette  of  noses  against  the  window-panes, 
believing  most  faithfully  the  man  would  bring  the 
horse  that  belonged  to  his  brother,  in  spite  of  the 
elements.  It  was  hoping  against  hope  :  no  man 
having  a  horse  to  sell  will  trot  him  out  in  a  rain 
storm,  unless  he  intend  to  sell  him  at  a  bargain — but 
childhood  is  so  credulous  !  The  succeeding  mom- 
ing  was  bright,  however,  and  down  came  the  horse. 
He  had  been  very  cleverly  groomed,  and  looked 
pleasant  under  the  saddle.  The  man  led  him  back 


HOKSE    QUALIFICATIONS.         119 

and  forth  before  the  door.  "  There,  squire,  's  as 
good  a  hos  as  ever  stood  on  iron."  Mrs.  Sparrow- 
grass  asked  me  what  he  meant  by  that.  I  replied, 
it  was  a  figurative  way  of  expressing,  in  horse-talk, 
that  he  was  as  good  a  horse  as  ever  stood  in  shoe- 
leather.  "  He's  a  handsome  hos,  squire,"  said 
the  man.  I  replied  that  he  did  seem  to  be  a  good- 
looking  animal,  but,  said  I,  "  he  does  not  quite 
come  up  to  the  description  of  a  horse  I  have  read." 
"  Whose  hos  was  it  ?"  said  he.  I  replied  it  was  the 
horse  of  Adonis.  He  said  he  didn't  know  him, 
but,  he  added,  "  there  is  so  many  hosses  stolen, 
that  the  descriptions  are  stuck  up  now  pretty  com 
mon."  To  put  him  at  his  ease  (for  he  seemed  to 
think  I  suspected  him  of  having  stolen  the  horse), 
I  told  him  the  description  I  meant  had  been  writ 
ten  some  hundreds  of  years  ago  by  Shakspeare, 
and  repeated  it — 

"  Round-booft,  short-joynted,  fetlocks  sbag  and  long, 

Broad  brest,  full  eyes,  small  head,  and  nostril  wide, 
High  crest,  short  ears,  strait  legs,  and  passing  strong, 
Thin  mane,  thick  tail,  broad  buttock,  tender  hide." 

"  Squire,"  said  he,  "  that  will  do  for  a  song,  but 
it  ain't  no  p'ints  of  a  good  hos.   Trotters  now-a-days 


120         SPAEEOWGEASS    PAPERS. 

go  in  all  shapes,  big  heads  and  little  heads,  big 
eyes  and  little  eyes,  short  ears  or  long  ones,  thick 
tail  and  no  tail ;  so  as  they  have  sound  legs,  good 
Tin,  good  barrel,  and  good  stifle,  and  wind,  squire, 
and  speed  well,  they'll  fetch  a  price.  Now,  this 
animal  is  what  I  call  a  hos,  squire  ;  he's  got  the 
p'ints,  he's  stylish,  he's  close-ribbed,  a  free  goer, 
kind  in  harness — single  or  double — a  good  feeder." 
I  asked  him  if  being  a  good  feeder  was  a  desirable 
quality.  He  replied  it  was  ;  "  of  course,"  said  he, 
"  if  your  hos  is  off  his  feed,  he  ain't  good  for  nothin'. 
But  what's  the  use,"  he  added,  "  of  me  tellin'  you 
the  p'ints  of  a  good  hos  ?  You're  a  hos  man, 
squire  :  you  know  " —  "  It  seems  to  me,"  said  I, 
u  there  is  something  the  matter  with  that  left  eye." 
" No,  sir"  said  he,  and  with  that  he  pulled  down 
the  horse's  head,  and,  rapidly  crooking  his  fore 
finger  at  the  suspected  organ,  said,  "  see  thar — 
don't  wink  a  bit."  "  But  he  should  wink,"  I 
replied.  "  Not  onless  his  eye  are  weak,"  he  said. 
To  satisfy  myself,  I  asked  the  man  to  let  me  take 
the  bridle.  He  did  so,  and,  so  soon  as  I  took  hold 
of  it,  the  horse  started  off  in  a  remarkable  retro 
grade  movement,  dragging  me  with  him  into  my 
best  bed  of  hybrid  roses.  Finding  we  were  tramp- 


A    LIVELY    ANIMAL.  121 

ling  down  all  the  best  plants,  that  had  cost  at  auc 
tion  from  three-and-sixpence  to  seven  shillings 
apiece,  and  that  the  more  I  pulled,  the  more  he 
backed,  I  finally  let  him  have  his  own.  way,  and 
jammed  him  stern-foremost  into  our  largest  climb 
ing  rose  that  had  been  all  summer  prickling  itself, 
in  order  to  look  as  much  like  a  vegetable  porcupine 
as  possible.  This  unexpected  bit  of  satire  in  his 
rear  changed  his  retrograde  movement  to  a  side 
long  bound,  by  which  he  flirted  off  half  the  pots 
on  the  balusters,  upsetting  my  gladioluses  and  tube 
roses  in  the  pod,  and  leaving  great  splashes  of 
mould,  geraniums,  and  red  pottery  in  the  gravel 
walk.  By  this  time  his  owner  had  managed  to 
give  him  two  pretty  severe  cuts  with  the  whip, 
which  made  him  unmanageable,  so  I  let  him  go. 
We  had  a  pleasant  time  catching  him  again,  when 
he  got  among  the  Lima  bean-poles  ;  but  his  owner 
led  him  back  with  a  very  self-satisfied  expression. 
"Playful,  ain't  he,  squire?"  I  replied  that  I 
thought  he  was,  and  asked  him  if  it  was  usual  for 
his  horse  to  play  such  pranks.  He  said  it  was  not. 
"  You  see,  squire,  he  feels  his  oats,  and  hain't  been 
out  of  the  stable  for  a  month.  Use  him,  and  he's  as 
kind  as  a  kitten."  With  that  he  put  his  foot  in 

6 


122         SPARKOWGBASS    PAPEKS. 

the  stirrup,  and  mounted.  The  animal  really 
looked  very  well  as  he  moved  around  the  grass  plot, 
and,  as  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  seemed  to  fancy  him,  I 
took  a  written  guarantee  that  lie  was  sound,  and 
bought  him.  What  I  gave  for  him  is  a  secret ;  I 
have  not  even  told  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass. 

It  is  a  mooted  point  whether  it  is  best  to  buy 
your  horse  before  you  build  your  stable,  or  build 
your  stable  before  you  buy  your  horse.  A  horse 
without  a  stable  is  like  a  bishop  without  a  church. 
Our  neighbor,  who  is  very  ingenious,  built  his  sta 
ble  to  fit  his  horse.  He  took  the  length  of  his 
horse  and  a  little  x>ver,  as  the  measure  of  the  depth 
of  his  stable  ;  then  he  built  it.  He  had  a  place 
beside  the  stall  for  his  Rockaway  carriage.  When 
he  came  to  put  the  Rockaway  in,  he  found  he  had 
not  allowed  for  the  shafts!  The  ceiling  was  too 
low  to  allow  them  to  be  erected,  so  he  cut  two 
square  port-holes  in  the  back  of  his  stable  and  run 
his  shafts  through  them,  into  the  chicken-house 
behind.  Of  course,  whenever  he  wanted  to  take 
out  his  carriage,  he  had  to  unroost  all  his  fowls, 
who  would  sit  on  his  shafts,  night  and  day.  But 
that  was  better  than  building  a  new  stable.  For 
my  part,  I  determined  to  avoid  mistakes,  by  getting 


.,, .    A    GOOD    FEEDER.  123 

the  horse  and  carriage  both  first,  and  then  to  build  the 
stable.  This  plan,  being  acceptable  to  Mrs.  S'par- 
rowgrass,  was  adopted,  as  judicious  and  expedient. 
In  consequence,  I  found  myself  with  a  horse  on  my 
hands  with  no  place  to  put  him.  Fortunately,  I 
was. acquainted  with  a  very  honest  man  who  kept 
a  livery  stable,  where  I  put  him  to  board  by  the 
month,  and  in  order  that  he  might  have  plenty  of 
good  oats,  I  bought  some,  which  I  gave  to  the 
ostler  for  that  purpose.  The  man  of  whom  I  bought 
the  horse  did  not  deceive  me,  when  he  represented 
him  as  a  great  feeder.  He  ate  more  oats  than  all 
the  rest  of  the  horses  put  together  in  that  stable. 

It  is  a  good  thing  to  have  a  saddle-horse  in  the 
country.  The  early  morning  ride,  when  dawn  and 
dew  freshen  and  flush  the  landscape,  is  comparable 
to  no  earthly,  innocent  pleasure.  Look  at  yonder 
avenue  of  road-skirting  trees.  Those  marvellous 
trunks,  yet  moist,  are  ruddy  as  obelisks  of  jasper  ! 
And  above — see  the  leaves  blushing  at  the  east ! 
Hark  to  the  music!  interminable  chains  of  melody 
linking  earth  and  sky  with  its  delicious  magic. 
The  little,  countless  wood-birds  are  singing !  and 
now  rolls  up  from  the  mown  meadow  the  fragrance 
of  cut  grass  and  clover. 


SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

"  No  print  of  sheep-track  yet  hath  crushed  a  flower  ; 
The  spider's  woof  with  silvery  dew  is  hung 
As  it  was  beaded  ere  the  daylight  hour  : 
The  hooked  bramble  just  as  it  was  strung, 
When  on  each  leaf  the  night  her  crystals  flung, 
Then  hurried  off,  the  dawning  to  elude." 
***** 

"  The  rutted  road  did  never  seem  so  clean, 
There  is  no  dust  upon  the  way-side  thorn, 
For  every  bud  looks  out  as  if  but  newly  born." 

Look  at  the  river  with  its  veil  of  blue  mist !  and 
the  grim,  gaunt  old  Palisades,  as  amiable  in  their 
orient  crowns  as  old  princes,  out  of  the  direct  line 
of  succession,  over  the  royal  cradle  of  the  heir 
apparent ! 

There  is  one  thing  about  early  riding  in  the 
country  ;  you  find  out  a  great  many  things  which, 
perhaps,  you  would  not  have  found  out  under  ordi 
nary  circumstances.  The  first  thing  I  found  out 
was,  that  my  horse  had  the  heaves.  I  had  been  so 
wrapt  up  in  the  beauties  of  the  morning,  that  I  had 
not  observed,  what  perhaps  everybody  in  that  vici 
nity  had  observed,  namely,  that  the  new  horse  had 
been  waking  up  all  the  sleepers  on  both  sides  of  the 
road  with  an  asthmatic  whistle,  of  half-a-mile 
power.  My  attention  was  called  to  the  fact  by  the 


"GoT    THE    HEAVES."  125 

village  teamster,  old  Dockweed,  who  came  bang 
ing  after  me  in  his  empty  cart,  shouting  out  my 
name  as  he  came.  I  must  say,  I  have  always  dis 
liked  old  Dockweed's  familiarity ;  he  presumes  too 
much  upon  my  good  nature,  when  he  calls  me 
Sparrygrass  before  ladies  at  the  de"pot,  and  by  my 
Christian  name  always  on  the  Sabbath,  when  he  is 
dressed  up.  On  this  occasion,  what  with  the 
horse's  vocal  powers  and  old  Dockweed's,  the  affair 
was  pretty  well  blown  over  the  village  before  break 
fast.  "  Sparrygrass,"  he  said,  as  he  came  up, 
"-that  your  hos  ?"  I  replied,  that  the  horse  was  my 
property.  "  Got  the  heaves,  ain't  he  ?  got  'em  bad." 
Just  then  a  window  was  pushed  open,  and  the 
white  head  of  the  old  gentleman,  who  sits  in  the 
third  pew  in  front  of  our  pew  in  church,  was  thrust 
out.  "  What's  the  matter  with  your  horse  ?"  said 
he.  "Got  the  heaves,"  replied  old  Dockweed, 
"  got  'em  bad."  Then,  I  heard  symptoms  of  open 
ing  a  blind  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  and  as  I 
did  not  wish  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  such  inquiries, 
I  rode  off  on  a  cross  road ;  but  not  before  I  heard, 
above  the  sound  of  pulmonary  complaint,  the  voice 
of  old  Dockweed  explaining  to  the  other  cottage, 
"  Sparrygrass — got  a  hos — got  the  heaves — got  'em 


126         SPABBOWGKASS    PAPERS. 

bad."  I  was  so  much  ashamed,  that  I  took  a  round 
about  road  to  the  stable,  and  instead  of  coming 
home  like  a  fresh  and  gallant  cavalier,  on  a  hand 
gallop,  I  walked  my  purchase  to  the  stable,  and 
dismounted  with  a  chastened  spirit. 

"  Well,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  with,  a 
face  beaming  all  over  with  smiles,  "  how  did  you 
like  your  horse?"  I  replied  that  he  was  not  quite 
so  fine  a  saddle-horse  as  I  had  anticipated,  but  I 
added,  brightening  up,  for  good  humor  is  sympa 
thetic,  "he  will  make  a  good  horse,  I  think,  after 
all,  for  you  and  the  children  to  jog  around  with  in 
a  wagon."  "  Oh,  won't  that  be  pleasant !"  said 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass. 

Farewell,  then,  rural  rides,  and  rural  roads 
o'  mornings!  Farewell,  song  birds,  and  jasper 
colonnades ;  farewell  misty  river,  and  rocky  Pali 
sades  ;  farewell  mown  honey-breath,  farewell  stir 
rup  and  bridle,  dawn  and  dew,  we  must  jog  on  at 
a  foot  pace.  After  all,  it  is  better  for  your  horse 
to  have  a  pulmonary  complaint  than  have  it 
yourself. 

I  had  determined  not  to  build  a  stable,  nor  to 
buy  a  carriage,  until  I  had  thoroughly  tested  my 
horse  in  harness.  For  this  purpose,  I  hired  a 


AGE    OF    THE    NEPPERHAN.         127 

Rockaway  of  the  stable-keeper.  Then  I  put  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass  and  the  young  ones  in  the  double 
seats,  and  took  the  ribbons  for  a  little  drive  by  the 
Nepperhan  river  road.  The  Nepperhan  is  a  quiet 
stream  that  for  centuries  has  wound  its  way  through 
the  ancient  dorp  *  of  Yonkers.  Geologists  may 
trace  the  movements  of  time  upon  the  rocky  dial 
of  the  Palisades,  and  estimate  the  age  of  the  more 
modern  Hudson  by  the  foot-prints  of  saurise  "in  the 
strata  that  fringe  its  banks,  but  it  is  impossible  to 
escape  the  conviction,  as  you  ride  beside  the  Nep- 
perhan,  that  it  is  a  very  old  stream — that  it  is 
entirely  independent  of  earthquakes — that  its  birth 
was  of  primeval  antiquity — and,  no  doubt,  that  it 
meandered  through  Westchester  valleys  when  the 
Hudson  was  only  a  fresh  water  lake,  land-locked 
somewhere  above  Poughkeepsie.  It  was  a  lovely 
afternoon.  The  sun  was  sloping  westward,  the 
meadows 

"  were  all  a-flame 

In  sunken  light,  and  the  mailed  grasshopper 
Shrilled  in  the  maize  with  ceaseless  iteration." 

"We  had  passed  Chicken  Island,  and  the  famous 
house  with  the  stone  gable  and  the  one  stone  chim 
ney,  in  which  General  Washington  slept,  as  he 


128  S  P  A  B  K  O  W  G  K  A  S  S      P  A  P  E  K  S  . 

made  it  a  point  to  sleep  in  every  old  stone  house  in 
Westchester  county,  and  bad  gone  pretty  far  on 
the  road,  past  the  cemetery,  when  Mrs.  Sparrow- 
grass  said  suddenly,  "Dear,  what  is  the  matter 
with  your  horse  ?"  As  I  had  been  telling  the  chil 
dren  all  the  stories  about  the  river  on  the  way,  I 
had  managed  to  get  my  head  pretty  well  inside  of 
the  carriage,  and,  at  the  time  she  spoke,  was  keep 
ing  a  look-out  in  front  with  my  back.  The  remark 
of  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  induced  me  to  turn  about, 
and  I  found  the  new  horse  behaving  in  a  most  un 
accountable  manner.  He  was  going  down  hill  with 
his  nose  almost  to  the  ground,  running  the  wagon 
first  on  this  side  and  then  on  the  other.  I  thought 
of  the  remark  made  by  the  man,  and  turning  again 
to  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  said,  "  Playful,  isn't  he  ?" 
The  next  moment  1  heard  something  breaking 
away  in  front,  and  then  the  Rockaway  gave  a  lurch 
and  stood  still.  Upon  examination  I  found  the 
new  horse  had  tumbled  down,  broken  one  shaft, 
gotten  the  other  through  the  check-rein  so  as  to 
bring  his  head  up  with  a  round-turn,  and  besides 
had  managed  to  put  one  of  the  traces  in  a  single 

hitch  around  his  off  hind  leg.     So  soon  as  I  had 

•u 
taken  all  the  young  ones  and  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass 


NEW    DIFFICULTIES.  129 

out  of  the  Rockaway,  I  set  to  work  to  liberate  the 
horse,  who  was  choking  very  fast  with  the  check- 
rein.  It  is  unpleasant  to  get  your  fishing-line  in  a 
tangle  when  you  are  in  a  hurry  for  bites,  but  I 
never  saw  fishing-line  in  such  a  tangle  as  that  har 
ness.  However,  I  set  to  work  with  a  penknife,  and 
cut  him  out  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  getting  home 
by  our  conveyance  impossible.  When  he  got  up, 
he  was  the  sleepiest  looking  horse  I  ever  saw. 
"  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,"  said  I,  "  won't  you  stay  here 
with  the  children  until  I  go  to  the  nearest  farm 
house  ?"  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  replied  that  she  would. 
Then  I  took  the  horse  with  me  to  get  him  out  of  the 
way  of  the.  children,  and  went  in  search  of  assist 
ance.  The  first  thing  the  new  horse  did  when  he 
got  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  scene  of 
the  accident,  was  to  tumble  down  a  bank.  Fortu 
nately  the  bank  was  not  over  four  feet  high,  but  as 
I  went  with  him,  my  trowsers  were  rent  in  a  grie 
vous  place.  While  I  was  getting  the  new  horse 
on  his  feet  again,  I  saw  a  colored  person  approach 
ing,  who  came  to  my  assistance.  The  first  thing 
he  did  was  to  pull  out  a  large  jack-knife,  and  the 
next  thing  he  did  was  to-  open  the  new  horse's 
mouth  and  run  the  blade  two  or  three  times  inside 

6* 


130         SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

of  the  new  horse's  gums.    Then  the  new  horse  com 
menced  bleeding.      "  Dah,   sah,"   said   the   man, 
shutting  up  his  jack-knife,   "  ef  't  hadn't  been  for 
dat  yer,  your  hos  would  a'  bin  a  goner."      "What 
was  the  matter  with  him  ?"  said  I.     "  Oh,  he's  ony 
jis    got    de    blind-staggers,  das  all.      Say,"  said 
he,  before  I  was  half  indignant  enough  at  the  man 
who  had  sold  me  such  an  animal,  "  say,  ain't  your 
name  Sparrowgrass  ?"      I  replied  that  my  name 
was  Sparrowgrass.     "  Oh,"  said  he,  "  I  knows  you, 
I  brung  some  fowls  once  down  to  you  place.     I 
heerd  about  you,  and  you  hos.     Dats  de  hos  dats 
got  de  heaves  so  bad,  heh !  heh  !     You  better  sell 
dat  hos."     I  determined  to  take  his  advice,  and 
employed  him  to  lead  my  purchase  to  the  nearest 
place  where  he  would  be  cared  for.     Then  I  went 
back  to  the  Rockaway,  but  met  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass 
and  the  children  on  the  road  coming  to  meet  me. 
She  had  left  a  man  in  charge  of  the  Rockaway. 
"When  we  got  to  the  Rockaway  we  found  the  man 
missing,  also  the  whip  and  one  cushion.     We  got 
another  person  to  take  charge  of  the  Rockaway, 
and  had  a  pleasant  walk  home  by  moonlight.     I 
think  a  moonlight  night  delicious,  upon  the  Hud- 


A    HORSE    FOR    SALE.  131 

Does  any  person  want  a  horse  at  a  low  price  ? 
A  good,  stylish-looking  animal,  close-ribbed,  good 
loin,  and  good  stifle,  sound  legs,  with  only  the 
heaves  and  blind-staggers,  and  a  slight  defect  in 
one  of  his  eyes  ?  If  at  any  time  he  slips  his  bridle 
and  gets  away,  you  can  always  approach  him  by 
getting  on  his  left  side.  I  will  also  engage  to  give 
a  written  guarantee  that  he  is  sound  and  kind, 
signed  by  the  brother  of  his  former  owner. 


132          SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 


GHAPTEK    X. 

Children — An  Interrupted  Discourse — Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  makes  a  Brilliant 
Remark  —  Philadelphia  Phrases — Another  Interruption  —  Quakers— A  few 
Quakeristics— A  Quaker  Baby— The  Early  Quakers— John  Woolman — Thomas 
Lurting — Broadbrims  in  a  Cathedral — And  a  Friendly  Suggestion. 

CHILDREN,  God  bless  them !  Who  can  help 
loving  them  !  Children,  God  bless  them  !  are  the 
only  beings  for  whom  we  have  no  "  imperfect  sym 
pathies."  We  love  them  through  and  through. 
There  is  nothing  conventional  in  the  hearty  laugh 
of  a  child.  The  smile  of  a  child  is  unsuspectable 
of  artifice.  I  once  corrected  one  of  my  little  ones, 
and  put  him  to  bed,  for  having  been  stubborn  at 
his  letters.  Then  I  waited  until  he  fell  asleep,  and 
then  I  watched  beside  him  until  he  slumbered  out 
his  sorrows.  When  he  opened  his  eyes,  he  stretched 
out  his  little  arms,  smiled  up  in  my  face,  and  for 
gave  me.  The  Lord  forgive  me  for  the  whaling  I 
gave  him !  I  owe  him  an  apology,  which  I  intend 


A    BRILLIANT    REMARK.          133 

to  make  so  soon  as  he  is  old  enough  to  understand 
it.  There  is  nothing  so  odious  to  the  mind  of  a 
child  as  injustice,  and  young  married  people  are 
prone  to  expect  too  much,  and  exact  too  much  of 
their  eldest  born.  If  then  we  are  unjustly  severe 
from  our  want  of  experience,  it  seem  to  me  there 
is  something  due,  some  reparation  on  our  part,  due 
to  the  individual  whose  feelings  we  have  injured. 
If  we  lose  temper  with  a  gentleman  six  feet  high, 
and  call  him  hard  names,  we  often  find  it  conve 
nient  to  apologize.  It  seems  to  me  that  three  feet 
of  wounded  sensibility  is,  at  least,  entitled  to 
respectful  consideration.  What  do  you  think  of 
that,  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  ?  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said 
she  thought  it  was  true.  "  How  much,"  I  con 
tinued,  reflectively,  "  children  occupy  the  father's 
mind."  "  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  "  and  the 
mother's."  "  Children,"  said  I,  "  are  to  the  father 
as  weights  are  to  the  clock — they  keep  him  steady 
and  they  keep  him  busy." 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  looked  up  from  the  plaid  patch 
of  new  gingham  she  was  needling  into  the  breast 
of  a  faded  gingham  apron,  and  nodded  significantly : 
"  True,"  said  she,  "  you  are  the  hour  hand,  but  I 
am  the  minute  hand." 


134:         SPARROWGRASS   PAPERS. 

As  this  was  the  most  brilliant  remark  Mrs.  S. 
had  made  for  months,  I  was  silent  for  some  time. 

"  My  dear,"  said  I,  after  a  pause,  "  speaking  of 
children,  I  wish  you  would  riot  teach  the  young 
ones  so  many  of  your  Philadelphia  phrases."  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass  looked  surprised.  "  You  know,  my 
dear,"  I  continued,  "  how  proud  I  am  this  year, 
and  justly  proud,  too,  of  our  musk-melons  ?" 
"  "Well  ?"  "  And  when  Uncle  Sourgrass  was  here 
the  other  day,  what  should  Ivanhoe  do  but  ask  him 
to  go  out  to  look  at  the  cantelopes."  "  "Well,  what 
of  that  2"  said  Mrs.  S.  "  Cantelope,"  said  I,  "  in 
this  part  of  the  world,  is  the  name  of  a  very  infe 
rior  species  of  melon,  and  I  would  not  have  had 
Uncle  Sourgrass  think  we  had  nothing  but  cante 
lopes  in  the  garden,  upon  any  account."  "You. 
wouldn't  ?"  "  No  !  You  call  all  kinds  of  melons 
*  cantelopes '  in  Philadelphia,  but  permit  me  to  say 
that  it  is  a  local  error,  which  should  not  be  trans 
planted  and  trained  in  juvenile  minds  on  the  banks 
of  the  Hudson."  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  was  much 
impressed  by  this  horticultural  figure.  "Then, 
when  visitors 'come,  you  always  will  take  them  to 
see  that  patch  of  *  Queen  Margarets,'  and  every 
body  gets  disappointed  to  find  they  are  only  China- 


PHILADELPHIA    PHKASES.          135 

asters."  "  "Well  ?"  "  And  there  is  another  thing 
too  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass ;  next  Christmas  Santa 
Glaus,  if  you  please — no  Kriss  Kringle.  Santa 
Glaus  is  the  patron  saint,  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  of  the 
New  Netherlands,  and  the  ancient  Dorp  of  Yon- 
kers;  he  it  is  who  fills  the  fireside  stockings ;  he 
only  can  come  down  "Westchester  chimneys,  and  I 
would  much  prefer  not  to  have  the  children's 
minds,  and  the  flue,  occupied  with  his  Pennsylva 
nia  prototype.  And,  since  I  must  speak  of  it,  why 
will  you  always  call  a  quail  a  partridge  ?  All  you 
Philadelphians  will  call  a  quail  a  partridge.  Did 
you  ever  read  Audubon?"  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass 
said  she  never  had.  "  Wilson  ?"  "  Never." 
"  Charles  Bonaparte  ?"  (A  dead  silence.)  "  Nor 
any  other  work  on  ornithology  ?"  Mrs.  Sparrow 
grass  said  there  was  a  little  bundle  of  remnants  and 
patches  in  the  upper  part  of  the  closet,  which  she 
wished  I  would  reach  down.  "  A  quail,"  I  con 
tinued,  as  I  reached  down  the  bundle,  "  is  not  a 
partridge,  my  dear."  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  the 
next  time  we  had  partridges  she  would  call  them 
all  quails,  as  she  supposed  I  knew  which  was  cor 
rect  better  than  she  did.  With  that  she  unrolled 


1  -°'P>  S  P  A  R  K  O  W  G  K  A  S  S     PAPERS. 

the  bundle  and  drew  therefrom  a  long,  triangular 
piece  of  faded,  mouse-colored  silk. 

There  are  moments  when  I  feel  as  if  I  would  like 
to  launch  into  a  little  sea  of  language,  and  spread  a 
nautilus  sail  in  delicate  air.  The  great,  three- 
deckers  of  thought,  the  noble  orators  and  splendid 
statesmen,  require  the  broader  and  more  turbulent 
ocean  for  their  ponderous  movements.  But  for 
me,  who  hare  seen  something  of  the  eloquent  world, 
from  the  magnates  of  the  senate,  in  palmy  days, 
down  to  the  present  windy  representatives  of  the 
great  metropolis  in  Common  Council  assembled, 
there  seems  to  be  a  more  captivating  charm  in 
those  lighter  crafts  that  float  in  safety  over  the  shal 
lows  of  polite  conversation,  and  venture  securely 
amid  the  rocks  and  whirlpools  of  social  argument. 
Who  has  not  felt  as  if  he  would  like  to  preach  for 
half  an  hour  or  so  upon  some  favorite  text  or  topic  ? 
Who  has  not,  in  some  auspicious  instant,  been  so 
fortified  in  argument  as  to  absolutely  suffer  for  the 
stimulant  of  opposition,  to  enable  him  to  unload  his 
mind  and  be  comfortable  ?  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  by 
an  ill-timed,  brilliant  remark,  had  broken  the 
thread  of  my  discourse  upon  children,  and  she  had 


QUAKERS.  137 

put  an  end  to  my  argument  against  local  phrases, 
by  requesting  me  to  reach  down  a  piebald  bundle 
of  patches.  But  from  that  roll  of  remnants  she 
had  drawn  forth  a  long,  triangular  piece  of  mouse- 
colored  silk.  The  tint  was  suggestive.  It  was  a 
text,  a  thesis,  that  would  bear  amplifying.  So  I  at 
once  started  off.  "  My  dear,  do  you  know  I  have 
long  felt  as  if  I  would  like  to  be  one  of  the  society 
called  '  Friends  ?' '  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  replied, 
she  did  not  know  I  had  contemplated  so  serious  a 
departure  from  the  rules  of  propriety.  "  My  dear," 
I  said,  "  no  person  has  a  greater  feeling  of  respect 
and  regard  than  I  have  for  the  sect  that  so  unjustly 
bears  the  name  of 

QUAKERS. 

"There  is  something,  in  the  very  aspect  of  a 
'  Friend,'  suggestive  of  peace  and  good  will. 
Yerily,  if  it  were  not  for  the  broad-brimmed  hat, 
and  the  straight  coat,  which  the  world's  people  call 
'  shad,'  I  would  be  a  Quaker.  But  for  the  life  of 
me  I  cannot  resist  the  effect  of  the  grotesque  and 
the  odd.  I  must  smile,  oftenest  at  myself.  I  could 
not  keep  within  drab  garments  and  the  bounds  of 


138  SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

propriety.  Incongruity  would  read  me  out  of 
meeting.  To  be  reined  in  under  a  plain  hat  would 
be  impossible.  Besides,  I  doubt  whether  any  one 
accustomed  to  the  world's  pleasures  could  be  a 
Quaker.  Who,  once  familiar  with  Shakspeare  and 
the  opera,  could  resist  a  favorite  air  on  a  hand 
organ,  or  pass,  undisturbed,  '  Hamlet !'  in  capital 
letters  on  a  play  bill  ?  To  be  a  Quaker,  one  must 
be  a  Quaker  born.  In  spite  of  Sydney  Smith,  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  a  Quaker  baby.  In  fact,  I  have 
seen  it — a  diminutive  demurity,  a  stiff-plait  in  the 
bud.  It  had  round  blue  eyes,  and  a  face  that 
expressed  resignation  in  spite  of  the  stomach-ache. 
It  had  no  lace  on  its  baby-cap,  no  embroidered 
nonsense  on  its  petticoat.  It  had  no  beads,  no  rib 
bons,  no  rattle,  no  bells,  no  coral.  Its  plain  gar 
ments  were  innocent  of  inserting  and  edging ;  its 
socks  were  not  of  the  color  of  the  world's  people's 
baby.  It  was  as  punctiliously  silent  as  a  silent 
meeting,  and  sat  up  rigidly  in  its  mother's  lap, 
twirling  its  thumbs  and  cutting  its  teeth  without  a 
gum-ring.  It  never  cried,  nor  clapped  its  hands, 
and  would  not  have  said  '  papa'  if  it  had  been  tied 
to  the  stake.  When  it  went  to  sleep  it  was  hushed 
without  a  song,  and  they  laid  it  in  a  ^rab-colored 


A    FEW    QUAKERISTICS.  139 

cradle  without  a  rocker.     Don't  interrupt  me,  I 
have  seen  it,  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass ! 

"  Something  I  have  observed  too,  remarkably, 
strikingly  Quakeristic.  The  young  maidens  and 
the  young  men  never  seem  inclined  to  be  fat. 
Such  a  thing  as  a  maiden  lady,  nineteen  years  of 
age,  with  a  pound  of  superfluous  flesh,  is  not  known 
among  Friends.  The  young  men  sometimes  grow 
outside  the  limits  of  a  straight  coat,  and  when  they 
do,  they  quietly  change  into  the  habits  of  ordinary 
men.  Either  they  are  read  out  of  meeting,  or  else 
they  lose  their  hold  when  they  get  too  round  and 
too  ripe,  and  just  drop  off.  Remarkably  Quakeris 
tic,  too,  is  an  exemption  the  Friends  appear  to 
enjoy  from  diseases  and  complaints  peculiar  to  other 
people.  Who  ever  saw  a  Quaker  marked  with  the 
small-pox,  or  a  Quaker  with  the  face-ache  ?  Who 
ever  saw  a  cross-eyed  Quaker,  or  a  decided  case  of 
mumps  under  a  broad-brimmed  hat?  Nobody. 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  don't  interrupt  me.  Doubtless 
much  of  this  is  owing  to  their  cleanliness,  duplex 
cleanliness,  purity  of  body  and  soul.  I  saw  a  face 
in  the  cars,  not  long  since — a  face  that  had  calmly 
endured  the  storms  of  seventy  yearly  meetings.  It 
was  a  hot,  dry  day,  the  windows  were  all  open  ; 


14:0          SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

dust  was  pouring  into  the  cars ;  eye-brows,  eye 
lashes,  ends  of  hair,  mustachios,  wigs,  coat-collars, 
sleeves,  waistcoats,  and  trowsers  of  the  world's  peo 
ple,  were  touched  with  a  fine  tawny  color.  Their 
faces  had  a  general  appearance  of  humidity  *in 
streaks,  now  and  then  tatooed  with  a  black  cinder; 
but  there,  within  a  satin  bonnet  (Turk's  satin),  a 
bonnet  made  after  the  fashion  of  Professor  Espy's 
patent  ventilator,  was  a  face  of  seventy  years,  calm 
as  a  summer  morning,  smooth  as  an  infant's,  with 
out  one  speck  or  stain  of  dust,  without  one  touch 
of  perspiration,  or  exasperation,  Mrs.  S.  No,  nor 
was  there,  on  the  cross-pinned  'kerchief,  nor  on  the 
elaborately  plain  dress,  one  atom  of  earthy  contact; 
the  very  air  did  seem  to  respect  that  aged  Qua 
keress. 

"Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  don't  interrupt  me.  Did 
you  ever,  my  dear,  '  get  the  writings  of  John  Wool- 
man  by  heart,  and  love  the  early  Quakers,'  as  be 
loved  Charles  Lamb  recommends?  No?  Then 
let  me  advise  you  to  read  the  book,  and  learn  some 
thing  of  one  who  had  felt  the  efficacy  of  that  power, 
which,  as  he  says,  '  prepares  the  creature  to  stand 
like  a  trumpet,  through  which  the  Lord  speaks  to 
his  people.'  Here  is  a  little  storv  of  his  early 


JOHN    WOOLMAN.  141 

childhood,  which  I  want  you  to  read  to  the  chil 
dren  now  and  then. 

" '  Once  going  to  a  neighbor's  house,  I  saw,  on 
the  wray,  a  Robin  sitting  on  her  nest,  and,  as  I  came 
near,  she  went  off;  but,  having  young  ones,  flew 
about,  and,  with  many  cries,  expressed  her  concern 
for  them.  I  stood  and  threw  stones  at  her,  till,  one 
striking  her,  she  fell  down  dead.  At  first,  I  was 
pleased  with  the  exploit ;  but,  after  a  few  minutes, 
was  seized  with  horror,  as  having,  in  a  sportive 
way,  killed  an  innocent  creature  while  she  was 
careful  of  her  young.  I  beheld  her  lying  dead, 
and  thought  those  young  ones,  for  which  she  was 
so  careful,  must  now  perish  for  the  want  of  their 
dam  to  nourish  them  ;  and,  after  some  painful  con 
siderations  on  the  subject,  I  climbed  up  the  tree, 
took  all  the  young  birds,  and  killed  them,  supposing 
that  better  than  to  leave  them  to  pine  away  and 
die  miserably  ;  and  believed,  in  this  case,  that 
Scripture  proverb  was  fulfilled,  "The  tender  mer 
cies  of  the  wicked  are  cruel."  I  then  went  on  my 
errand  ;  but,  for  some  hours,  could  think  of  nothing 
else  but  the  cruelties  I  had  committed,  and  was 
much  troubled.  Thus  He,  whose  tender  mercies 
are  above  all  his  works,  hath  placed  a  principle  in 


142          SPAKBOWGRASS    PAPERS. 

the  human  mind,  which  incites  to  exercise  good 
ness  toward  every  living  creature  ;  and  this  being 
singly  attended  to,  people  become  tender-hearted 
and  sympathizing ;  but  being  frequently  and 
totally  rejected,  the  mind  becomes  shut  up  in  a 
contrary  disposition.' 

"  Don't  interrupt  me,  my  dear.  And  Thomas 
Lurting,  too ;  his  adventures  are  well  worth  read 
ing  to  the  children.  A  Quaker  sailor,  the  mate  of 
a  Quaker  ship,  manned  with  a  Quaker  crew,  every 
one  of  which  had  a  straight  collar  to  his  pea-jacket, 
and  a  tarpaulin,  with  at  least  three  feet  diameter  of 
brim.  Thomas  Lurting,  whose  ship  was  captured 
by  Algerine  pirates  after  a  hard  chase,  and  who 
welcomed  them  on  board  as  if  they  had  been  bro 
thers.  Then,  when  the  Quaker  vessel  and  the 
Algerine  were  separated  by  a  storm,  how  friendly 
those  salt-water  non-resistants  were  to  their,  cap  tors 
on  board  their  own  vessel ;  with  what  alacrity  did 
they  go  aloft  to  take  in  sail,  or  to  shake  out  a  reef, 
until  those  heathen  pirates  left  the  handling  of  the 
ship  entirely  to  their  broad-brimmed  brethren,  and 
went  to  sleep  in  the  cabin ;  and  then,  what  did  the 
Quakers  do  but  first  shut  the  cabin  doors,  and  fasten 
them,  so  that  the  Turks  could  not  get  out  again  ? 


THOMAS    LURTING.  143 

And  then,  fearless  of  danger,  they  steered  for  the 
Barbary  coast,  and  made  those  fierce,  mustached 
pirates  get  into  a  small  boat  (they  had  been  for  ever 
locked  up  else),  and  rowed  them  to  the  shore  ;  and 
when  the  Turks  found  themselves  in  a  small  boat 
with  but  a  small  crew  of  broad-brims,  and  gave 
signs  of  mutiny,  what  did  the  brave  Thomas  Lur- 
ting  ?  Lay  violent  hands  on  them  ?  Draw  a  cut 
lass,  or  cock  a  pistol  ?  No,  he  merely  struck  the 
leader  '  a  pretty  heavy  blow  with  a  boat-hook,  tell 
ing  him  to  sit  still  and  be  quiet,'  as  he  says  himself, 
'  thinking  it  was  better  to  stun  a  man  than  to  kill 
him.'  And  so  he  got  the  pirates  on  shore,  and  in 
their  own  country.  Brave  Thomas  Lurting  !  True  ? 
Of  course,  it  is  true. 

"The  most  singular  spectacle  I  ever  witnessed 
was  the  burial-service  over  a  Quaker,  in  a  Catholic 
cathedral.  He  had  formerly  been  the  rigidest  of 
his  sect — a  man  who  had  believed  the  mitre  and 
crozier  to  be  little  better  than  the  horns  and  tail  of 
the  evil  one — a  man  who  had  looked  upon  church 
music  and  polygamy  with  equal  abhorrence,  and 
who  would  rather  have  been  burnt  himself  than 
burn  a  Roman  candle  on  the  anniversary  of  the 
national  jubilee.  Yet,  by  one  of  those  inexplicable 


144         SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

inconsistencies,  peculiar  to  mere  men,  but  rare 
among  Quakers,  he  had  seceded  from  the  faith  of 
his  fathers,  and  become  one  of  the  most  zealous  of 
papists. 

"  The  grand  altar  was  radiant  with  wax  tapers  ; 
the  priests  on  either  side,  in  glittering  dresses,  were 
chanting  responses  j  the  censer  boys,  in  red  and 
white  garments,  swung  the  smoke  of  myrrh  and 
frankincense  into  the  air,  and  as  the  fragant  mist 
rolled  up  and  hung  in  rosy  clouds  under  the  lofty, 
stained-glass  windows,  the  great  organ  panted  forth 
the  requiem.  Marvellously  contrasted  with  this 
pomp  and  display  appeared  the  crowd  of  broad 
brims  and  stiff-plaits,  the  friends  and  relatives  of 
the  deceased.  Never,  perhaps,  had  such  an  audi 
ence  been  grathered  in  such  a  place  in  the  world 
before.  The  scene,  to  the  priests  themselves,  must 
have  been  novel  and  striking.  Instead  of  the  usual 
display  of  reverence,  instead  of  the  customary  show 
of  bare  heads  and  bended  knees,  every  Quaker 
stood  stoutly  on  his  legs,  with  his  broad-brimmed 
hat  clinging  to  his  head  as  strongly  as  his  faith  to 
his  heart.  Disciplined  as  they  had  been  in  many 
a  silent  meeting,  during  the  entire  mass  not  one  of 
the  broad-brims  moved  an  inch  until  the  service 


BROADBRIMS  IN  A  CATHEDRAL.  145 

was  over.  Then  the  coffin  was  opened  and 
solemnly,  silently,  decorously,  the  brethren  and 
sisters  moved  towards  it  to  look,  for  the  last  time, 
upon  the  face  of  the  seceder.  Then  silently, 
solemnly,  decorously,  they  moved  from  the  Popish 
temple.  '  I  saw,'  said  one  of  the  sisters,  '  that  he 
(meaning  the  departed  ex-Quaker)  had  on  worked 
slippers  with  silver  soles,  what  does  thee  think  that 
was  for  ?'  The  person  spoken  to  wore  a  hat  with  a 
goodly  brim.  Without  moving  his  head,  he  rolled 
around,  sideways,  two  Quakeristic  eyes,  large  blue 
eyes,  with  little  inky  dots  of  pupils,  like  small  black 
islands  in  oceans  of  buttermilk,  and  said,  awfully — 
'  I  suppose  they  was  to  walk  through  Purgatory 
with.' " 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass. 
"  Nevertheless,  my  dear,  it  is  true,"  I  replied ; 
"  true,  every  word  of  it.  You  have  not  seen  all  the 
world  yet,  my  dear ;  it  is  a  very  large  place — a 
very  large  place,  indeed,  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass." 


146          SPARROW GRASS    PAPERS 


CHAPTER  XL 

Our  new  Horse  improves — He  is  loaned  to  to  a  Neighbor,  and»-disgraces  himself 
— Autumnal  Vegetation — The  Palisades  and  Rock  Cataract — An  agreeable 
Surprise — Mr.  Sparrowgrass  takes  a  short  trip  to  the  County  of  Broome — 
— Meets  with  a  Disappointment  on  his  Return,  but  indulges  in  a  flowing  vein 
of  "  Adversity's  sweet  milk." 

OUR  new  horse  waxes  fat.  He  takes  kindly  to 
bis  feed,  and  has  already  eaten  himself  into  the 
shape  of  a  bell-pear.  As  he  was  suffering  from 
want  of  exercise,  I  loaned  him,  for  a  few  days,  to  a 
neighbor,  who  was  moving  his  chattels  into  a  new 
house.  He  was  quite  serviceable  for  a  time,  and 
really  would  have  done  very  well,  but  for  a  sudden 
return  of  his  epilepsy  as  he  was  carrying  a  load  of 
crockery.  I  think  our  neighbor  has  acquitted  me 
of  any  malicious  intention  in  letting  him  have 
the  animal,  but  his  wife  always  meets  me  with  a 
smile  as  fine  as  a  wire.  In  fact,  she  told  Mrs.  Spar 
rowgrass  it  was  of  no  consequence,  that  it  was  all 
right,  and  she  never  would  have  thought  of  it  at  all, 


CONDITION    OF    OUK    HOUSE.       14:7 

if  it  had  not  been  for  an  old  family  teapot  that  had 
belonged  to  her  grandmother,  that  could  not  be 
replaced — "a  thing,  my  dear,  the  family  has 
always  set  a  great  deal  of  store  by."  Confound  the 
family  teapot !  If  it  were  really  so  choice  a  piece 
of  porcelain,  what  did  they  put  it  in  the  wagon 
for  ?  Why  didn't  they  carry  it  by  hand  ?  I  sup 
pose  we  will  have  that  broken  teapot  alluded  to, 
every  now  and  then,  at  village  tea-parties,  for  years 
to  come. 

Our  horse  waxes  fat.  I  had  serious  thoughts  of 
parting  with  him  once,  but  the  person  who  was 
negotiating  for  him  wanted  me  to  take  another 
horse  in  exchange,  and  pay  him  a  sum  of  money  to 
boot,  which  seemed  to  be,  at  least,  as  much  as,  if 
not  more  than,  both  horses  were  worth.  Upon  con 
sultation  with  Mrs.  S.,  I  declined  the  trade. 

Notwithstanding  the  continued  warm  weather, 
the  leaves  already  manifest  the  visible  approaches 
of  autumn.  Earliest  of  all,  the  velvet-podded 
sumach  hangs  its  fringe  of  fire,  here  and  there,  in 
the  heart  of  the  deep  old  wood.  Then  the  sugar- 
maples,  golden  at  the  top,  and  the  deeper  green 
leaves  of  the  swamp-maple,  are  bound  with  a  florid 
border.  The  pointed  foliage  of  the  gum-tree  comes 


148         SPARROWGRASS   PAPERS. 

out  with  a  chromatic  spread  of  tints,  and,  around 
the  trunks,  and  up  in  the  heavy  verdure  of  cedar 
and  oak,  the  five-lingered  creeper  winds  its  threads 
of  gleaming  crimson.  Countless  little  purple 
flowers  scatter  between  the  trees,  and  margin  the 
roads ;  white  asters,  large  and  small,  put  forth  their 
tufts  of  stars ;  and  above  them  the  golden  rod  waves 
in  the  wind  its  brilliant  sceptre.  Down  by  the 
plashy  spring,  the  wild-rose  thickets  are  densely 
spotted  with  round,  red  berries,  beautiful  to  behold, 
and,  if  you  look  in  the  grass,  you  will  often  find  a 
yellow  jewel,  a  sort  of  wild  lady's-slipper. 

But,  oh,  the  glory  of  those  grand  old  Palisades ! 
Those  bald,  storm-splintered  crags,  that  overlook 
the  river  !  Far  as  the  vision  stretches,  reach  their 
grim,  grey  precipices,  gorgeous,  in  autumnal  tartan, 
to  the  waist,  but  bare,  disrobed,  and  regal  to  the 
summit.  Brave  old  thunder-mockers,  they.  "I  once 
suggested,  to  some  of  my  neighbors,  the  propriety 
of  having  them  white-washed,  for  appearance  sake, 
but  I  do  most  heartily  repent  me  of  the  irreverent 
jest.  Truth  to  say,  I  had  no  intention  in  it,  although 
the  project  was  taken  seriously,  and  as  seriously 
objected  to,  partly  on  the  ground  that  there  were 
other  things  about  the  village,  to  be  done,  of  more 


APPROACH    or    AUTUMN. 


pressing  importance,  and  partly  on  account  of  the 
expense. 

There  is  another  hint  of  the  coining  of  autumn  ; 
the  evening  music  of  the  insect  world  hath  ceased  ; 
the  iterated  chirp  of  the  cricket,  the  love-lorn  cry 
of  Katy-did,  and  the  long,  swelling  monotone  of 
the  locust,  have  departed.  But  we  have  brought 
forth  the  antique  andirons,  and  the  winter-  wood  lies 
piled  up  in  the  shed,  and,  with  the  first  crackle  of 
the  hickory,  we  shall  hear,  at  least,  one  summer- 
voice,  on  the  earth.  We  shall  miss  our  beetles, 
though  ;  we  shall  see  no  more  of  those  window-visi 
tors  who  used  to  bump  against  the  centre-lamp  and 
then  go  crawling,  in  a  very  improper  way,  over  the 
table,  with  a  segment  of  white  shirt  sticking  forth 
from  their  nether  garments  behind.  We  shall  miss 
our  beetles.  The  swamps  and  ponds,  too,  are 
silent.  The  frogs  no  longer  serenade  us  with  their 
one-pronged  jews-harps,  and,  oh,  saddest  of  all,  the 
birds  !  the  summer  birds  !  now  pipe  in'  other  lands, 
and  under  alien  skies. 

"  The  melancholy  days  are  come, 
The  saddest  of  the  year." 

Take  it  all  in  all,  our  garden,  this  season,  has 


150         SPAKKOWGBASS   PAPERS. 

redeemed  itself.  To  be  sure,  our  fruit-trees  blos 
somed  away  their  energies,  attempting  to  make  too 
much  of  a  show  in  the  spring.  But  we  do  not  care 
a  great  deal  for  pears,  and  as  one  cherry-tree  put 
out  quite  a  respectable  show  of  ox-hearts,  we  were 
content  As  for  inusk  and  water-melons,  we  had 
much,  to  brag  of;  and  our  potatoes  have  yielded 
an  abundant  crop  of  all  sizes.  When  we  get  in 
our  tomatoes,  we  shall  feel  pretty  comfortable  for 
the  winter ;  at  present,  they  are  green,  but  thrifty. 
It  is  a  good  thing  to  have  an  agreeable  surprise, 
now  and  then,  in  the  country.  I  have  been  tempted 
lately,  by  the  fine  moonlight  evenings,  to  take 
short  rides  in  the  saddle  by  the  haunted  shores  of 
the  Nepperhan.  I  love  to  note  the  striking  con 
trasts  of  massive  foliage  in  deep  shadow,  silvery 
water  in  breaks  and  bends,  a  pond  here,  a  mill-dam 
there,  with  its  mimic  cascade,  and  at  times  the  red 
glare  of  a  belated  cottage  window.  I  enjoy  these 
rides,  even  at  the  risk  of  a  tumble.  And  this  cus 
tom  was  the  cause  of  a  pleasant  surprise.  One 
evening,  I  returned  rather  early  from  the  river,  on 
account  of  the  fog,  and  tied  our  new  horse  under 
the  shed,  intending  to  ride  him  over  to  the  stable 
at  the  usual  hour.  But  finding  some  visitors  at 


THE    HORSE    GONE.  151 

home,  the  pleasure  of  conversation,  in  regard  to  the 
fall  crops,  beguiled  me,  and  I  went  to  bed,  leaving 
the  new  horse  tied  under  the  shed.  When  I  woke 
up  next  morning  he  was  gone.  Some  person  had 
stolen  him  in  the  night.  I  do  not  believe  he  got 
very  far  with  him  before  he  found  out  it  was  easier 
to  get  him  away  than  to  bring  him  back.  At  all 
events,  he  was  off,  and  I  paid  his  bill  at  the  stable, 
to  date,  with  great  pleasure.  At  first  I  thought  I 
would  tell  my  wife,  and  then  I  concluded  to  keep 
the  good  news  for  a  while,  and  break  it  to  her  grad 
ually.  There  is  a  great  deal  in  keeping  a  good  thing 
to  yourself  for  a  while.  You  can  turn  it  over  and 
over  in  your  .mind,  and  enjoy,  in  anticipation,  the 
effect  it  will  produce  when  you  come  to  relate  it  to 
another.  This  was  too  good,  though,  to  keep  very 
long.  Here  was  a  snub-nosed,  blear-eyed,  bandy, 
legged  horse-thief,  with  a  pocketful  of  oats,  and  a 
straw  in  his  mouth,  covertly  sneaking  off  at  mid 
night  with  an  animal  he  did  not  know  anything 
about — a  horse  that  was  an  ostrich,  in  appetite  only 
— a  horse  that  would  keep  him,  by  night  and  by 
day,  constantly  busy,  in  doing  nothing  else  but 
stealing  his  feed.  A  horse  that  was  a  weaver ! 
And  of  all  hard  feeders,  a  weaver  is  the  worst.  A 


SP AKKO WGK AS S     PAPERS. 


weaver,  that  would  stand  weaving  his  head  from 
side  to  side,  like  a  shuttle,  over  the  manger,  eating 
away  with  a  sinister  look  in  his  one  eye  expressive 

of— 

"  You,  nor  I,  nor  nobody  knows, 

Where  oats,  peas,  beans,  and  barley  grows." 

It  was  too  good  to  keep.  Once  or  twice  I  came 
very  near  letting  it  out ;  but  by  great  presence  of 
mind  I  succeeded  in  keeping  it  in. 

By  and  by  it  will  be  a  great  joke  for  somebody  ! 
'We  have  had  a  slight  frost.  The  first  tender 
touch  of  winter's  jewelled  finger.  A  premonition, 
no  more.  How  kindly  the  old  dame  moves  in  the 
country — how  orderly.  How  cleverly  she  lays 
everything  to  sleep,  and  then  folds  over  all  her 
delicate  drapery !  It  is  a  grand  sight  to  see  the 
snow  driving  across  the  rocky  face  of  the  Palisades. 
We  shall  welcome  in  the  winter  with  pleasure. 
Sleep,  little  flowers,  for  a  time  ;  the  kind  old  nurse 
will  be  beside  your  tiny  cradles,  and  wrap  you  up 
softly  in  light  blankets!  Sleep,  little  hard-shell 
beetles,  rest  Katy-did,  and  you — nocturnal  bugler, 
mosquito,  rest ! 

We  have  had  again  warmer  weather  and  fogs. 
We  love  to  see  a  fog  in  the  country.  Look  over 


. 


THE    PALISADES.  153 

the  wide  expanse  of  the  river,  smooth  as  looking- 
glass — two  miles  across ;  see  the  morning  sunlight 
on  the  eternal  precipices.  Look  at  the  variegated 
foliage  fused  to  lava  under  the  thin  screen  of  mist. 
It  seems  as  if  nature  had  poured  down  in  floods  of 
melted  sulphur,  vermilion,  and  orpiment.  And 
now  the  slight  veil  sweeps  away,  and  the  round 
masses  of  vegetation  jut  forth  in  light  and  shadow. 
Once  more  we  recognize  the  bare  strip  that  indi 
cates  the  course  of  the  ROCK  CATARACT  !  If  you 
watch  the  summit  now,  you  will  see  something. 
The  blasters  are  at  work  with  gunpowder.  There  ! 
Puff  number  one  !  Up  rolls  the  blue  smoke,  and 
hark  at  the  echoes  !  You  do  not  see  the  blown  out 
mass,  as  it  falls  sheer  down  the  barren  cliff;  but 
now  watch  the  yellow  cloud  of  dust  that  whirls 
along,  as  the  huge  fragment  bounds,  hundreds  of 
feet  below,  over  the  steep  sloping  earth,  until  it  buries 
itself,  amid  the  uproar,  at  the  very  brink  of  the 
river.  Follow  its  course  to  the  city,  and  you  will 
behold  it,  and  its  brethren,  rising  in  massive  piles 
of  architecture ;  but  look  at  the  grand  old  rocks 
again,  and  tell  if  there  be  a  scar  or  spot  left,  to 
indicate  whence  it  fell.  Strange  that  you  cannot, 
for  it  is  a  great  quarry  that — over  there. 

7* 

* 


154  SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

Not  a  person  knows  anything  concerning  the 
horse's  hegira,  yet.  Old  Dockweed,  the  inquisitive 
old  sand-piper,  asked  me,  "how  that  horse  was 
getting  along  with  his  heaves  ?"  I  replied,  he  was 
getting  on  pretty  well.  I  mean  to  ask  Mrs.  S., 
some  day,  how  much  she  thinks  my  stable  bill  has 
been  for  the  past  week  or  two.  How  she  will  open 
her  eyes,  when  I  tell  her  that  expense  is  at  an  end. 
And  horse-shoes  too ;  what  a  costly  luxury  a  black 
smith  is,  in  the  country. 

I  shall  leave  home  to-morrow,  for  a  short  sojourn 
in  Broome  county  with  a  friend.  When  I  return, 
it  will  be  time  enough  to  tell  Mrs.  S.  about  our 
good  luck.  How  surprised  she  will  be. 

It  is  a  good  thing  to  travel  in  the  country — to  go 
from  one  country  place  to  another  country  place — 
to  meet  old  friends  with  fresh  welcomes,  old  hearths, 
and  old  wood,  old  side-boards,  old  wine,  and,  above 
all — old  stories.  I  love  an  old  story.  There  is  no 
place  where  you  will  find  so  many  old  stories  as  in 
the  country.  Our  village  is  full  of  old  stories. 
They  have  a  flavor  of  antiquity,  too,  that  commends 
them  always  to  the  connoisseur.  The  old  stories  of 
Broome  county  have  a  rarer  merit — some  of  them 
are  good.  How  pleasant  it  was  to  sit  with  my  old 


A  TKIP  TO  THE  COUNTY  OF  BECOME.  155 

friend  by  his  hospitable  hearth-stone,  and  enjoy  the 
warmth  of  his  fire,  his  wine,  and  his  welcome ! 
How  pleasant  it  was  to  listen  to  his  old  stories,  like 
the  chime  of  some  old  bell,  or  the  echo  of  some  old 
song,  bringing  up  again  days,  men,  scenes,  and 
scores  of  happy  memories  !  How  we  went  into  the 
deep  green  cover  to  shoot  woodcock ;  how  I  bagged 
my  first  bird  ;  how  we  stopped  at  the  spring,  and 
could  not  find  the  flask,  but  we  did  not  mean  the 
powder-flask  ;  how  we  got  Mr.  Peapod  to  fire  at  the 
mark,  but  forgot  to  put  the  shot  in  his  gun  ;  and  all 
about  our  old  friends  on  the  Susquehanna,  the  rides, 
the  drives,  the  junketings — up  above,  where  the 
broad  river  sweeps  on  behind  the  garden,  or  where 
the  brook  ramps  over  the  rocks,  and  rambles  music 
ally  down  through  the  glen.  Those,  indeed,  were 
fine  old  stories. 

I  love,  too,  to  sleep  in  an  old-fashioned  house — 
to  hear  the  dew  drip  from  the  eaves  at  night,  and 
the  rustle  of  autumnal  leaves  around  the  porch — to 
wake  with  the  cheery  crow  of  the  rooster,  and  the 
chirrup  of  the  coffee-mill — to  look  forth  from  the 
low-browed  window  upon  the  early  morning,  and 
to  see  clouds,  and  hills,  and  ever  so  many  rural  pic- 


156         SPABBOWGBASS   PAPEBS. 

tures.     It  is  a  good  thing  to  travel  sometimes  in  the 
country. 

When  I  returned  home,  I  determined  to  break 
the  whole  matter  to  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  about  the 
horse.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  keeping  a  secret 
too  long  from  the  partner  of  one's  bosom.  This 
thought  oppressed  me.  So,  after  I  had  deposited 
my  over-coat  and  carpet-bag  in  the  hall,  I  could 
scarcely  keep  the  secret  quiet  until  the  proper 
moment.  The  children  never  seemed  to  be  so  per 
tinaciously  curious  as  they  did  on  the  evening  of 
my  return.  I  think  we  should  never  refuse  answer 
ing  the  questions  children  put  to  us,  unless  they  ask 
questions  it  would  be  improper  to  answer.  To  tell 
the  truth,  I  was  not  sorry  when  they  were  cased  in 
their  Canton-flannel  long-drawers,  and  ready  for 
bed.  Then  I  had  to  tell  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  all  about 
the  journey  ;  but  first  she  had  to  tell  me  all  about 
everything  that  had  occurred  during  my  absence. 
Then  I  commenced:  "  My  dear,"  said  I,  "  do  you 
know  notwithstanding  the  extraordinary  large  crops 
this  fall,  that  feed  still  remains  very  high  ?"  Mrs.  S. 
replied  that  she  had  neglected  to  speak  of  the  horse ; 
but  as  I  had  reminded  her  of  it — "  My  dear,"  said 


BREAKING    THE    SECRET.  157 

I,  interrupting  her,  "  I  know  what  you  want  to  say. 
You  want  me  to  part  with  him,  even  if  I  give  him 
away."  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  replied  that  she  did. 
"  What,"  I  continued,  "  do  you  suppose  he  has 
cost  me  within  the  two  past  weeks  ?"  Mrs.  Spar 
rowgrass  answered  that  I  would  find  he  had  cost 
more  than  he  was  worth,  twice  over.  "  You  think 
so,  do  you  ?"  said  I.  "  Then,  my  dear,  I  want  to 
tell  you  something  that  will  gratify  and  surprise 
you."  Then  I  followed  it  up  :  "In  the  first  place, 
do  you  remember,  about  two  weeks  ago,  that  I 
returned  home  from  a  moonlight  ride  beside  the 
romantic  shores  of  the  Nepperhan  ?"  Mrs.  Sparrow- 
grass  replied  that  she  remembered  it.  "  Well, 
then,  that  night  I  tied  our  horse  under  the  shed, 
and  I  forgot  him.  The  next  morning  he  was  miss 
ing."  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  requested  me  to  go  on. 

There  is  a  great  deal,  sometimes,  in  the  manner 
of  saying  those  two  words,  "  go  on."  It  sometimes 
implies  that  you  have  arrived  at  the  end  of  what 
you  have  to  say,  and  that  the  other  party  has 
something  yet  to  add.  There  was  a  pause. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrograss,  "  tell  your  story, 
and  then  let  me  tell  mine  !"  "  Wasn't  he  stolen  ?" 
said  I,  beginning  to  fear  that  some  news  of  an 


158  SPARKOWGKASS   PAPERS. 

unpleasant  nature  was  in  store  for  me.  "  I  do  not 
know  whether  lie  was  stolen  or  whether  he  strayed 
away ;  but  at  all  events  he  has  been  found,  my 
dear."  replied  Mrs.  S.  "  Where  did  they  find  him, 
Mrs.  S.  ?"  said  I,  feeling  a  little  nervous.  "  In  the 
Pound!"  replied  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  with  a  quiet, 
but  impressive  accent  on  the  last  word.  "  In  the 
pound !"  I  echoed,  "  then,  Mrs.  S.,  we  will  leave 
him  in  the  hands  of  the  village  authorities."  "Bless 
me !"  replied  Mrs.  S.,  "  I  had  him  taken  out  imme 
diately,  so  soon  as  I  heard  of  it.  "Why  you  would 
not  have  your  horse  kept  in  the  pound,  my  dear, 
for  everybody  to  make  remarks  upon  ?  He  is  in 
the  stable,  my  dear,  and  as  fat  as  ever ;  the  man 
that  keeps  him  said  it  would  do  you  good  to  see 
him  eat  the  first  day  he  got  back.  You  will  have 
to  pay  a  pretty  nice  bill,  though.  There  are  the 
fees  of  the  pound-master,  and  the  damages  to  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Buttonball,  for  breaking  into  his  carrot 
patch,  where  he  was  found,  and  then  you  will  have 

to  get  a  new  saddle  and  bridle,  and  " 

"Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,"  said  I,  interrupting  the 
catalogue  of  evils,  by  putting  up  my  hand  with  the 
palm  turned  toward  her  like  a  monitor,  "Mrs.  S., 
there  are  times  when  trifles  occupy  too  conspicuous 


ADVERSITY'S    SWEET    MILK.       159 

a  position  in  the  human  mind.  Few  people  lose 
their  night's  rest  from  a  superabundance  of  joy,  but 
many  suffer  from  a  species  of  moral  nightmare. 
Do  not  let  this  matter,  then,  give  you  any  more 
uneasiness."  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  it  did  not 
give  her  any  uneasiness  at  all.  u  If  this  wretched 
animal  is  again  upon  our  hands,  we  must  make  the 
best  of  him.  While  I  was  away,  I  heard  in  the 
country  there  was  a  prospect  of  oats  not  being  able 
to  keep  up  this  winter.  Next  year  we  can  put  him 
out  to  pasture.  I  also  learn  that  a  new  and  fatal 
disease  has  broken  out  among  horses  lately.  We 
must  hope,  then,  for  the  best.  Let  us  keep  him 
cheerfully,  but  do  not  let  us  be  haunted  with  him. 
lie  is,  at  least,  a  very  nice  looking  animal,  my  dear. 
Excuse  me  a  moment 

'  Let  Fate  do  her  worst,  there  are  relics  of  joy, 
Bright  dreams  of  the  past,  which  we  cannot  destroy.' 

You  had,  at  least,  the  pleasure  of  riding  after  him 
once  ;  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  that  he 
was  stolen — once.  Perhaps  somebody  may  take  a 
fancy  to  him  yet,  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass." 


160          SPARROW GKASS    PAPERS. 


CIIAPTEE    XII, 

Our  New  Barber — Reminiscences  of  our  Old  Barber— A  Dog  of  another  Color — 
October  Woods — A  Party  on  the  Water — Home,  Sweet  Home,  with  Variations 
(flute  obligate) — A  row  to  the  Palisades — Iroquois  Legend — Return  to  the 
Cottage. 

WE  have  gotten  a  new  barber  in  the  village. 
It  is  a  good  thing  to  have  a  barber  in  the  country. 
You  hear  all  the  news,  all  the  weddings,  the  en 
gagements,  the  lawsuits,  and  other  festive  matters, 
in  his  aromatic  shop.  Our  former  Master  Nicholas 
has  left  us  suddenly.  "  Maese  Nibolas,  quando 
barlero,  del  mismo  pueblo"  "We  miss  him  very 
much.  I  used  to  admire  his  long  and  learned  'essay 
upon  the  'uman  'air.  The  'uman  'air,  for  want  of 
capillary  attraction,  could  not  maintain  its  place 
upon  the  'uman  'ead,  without  the  united  juices  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty-five  vegetables.  So  long  as 
he  devoted  himself  to  procuring  the  necessary  vege 
tables,  and  hung  his  argument  upon  a  hair,  he  did 


OUR    NEW    BARBER.  161 

very  well.  It  was  pleasant  to  doze  under  his  glib 
fingers  and  his  vegetative  philosophy.  But  unfor 
tunately  he  got  into  politics.  Barbers  usually  have 
excitable  temperaments.  The  barber  of  our  village 
became  the  softest  of  the  softs.  He  was  ready  to 
argue  with  anybody,  and  everybody,  in  his  "  gar 
den  of  spices." 

One  day  while  I  was  under  his  tuition,  at  the 
end  of  a  prolonged  debate  with  one  of  his  sitters, 
by  way  of  clinching  his  point,  he  did  me  the  hon<ff 
of  tapping  me  twice  upon  the  cranium  with  the 
back  of  his  hair-brush.  "Sir,"  said  he  (tap),  "I 
tell  you  that  is  so  "  (heavy  tap).  In  consequence, 
I  predicted  his  speedy  downfall.  Sure  enough, 
he  laid  a  wager  that  his  candidate  would  have 
a  majority  in  our  village  over  all  the  rest  of  the 
candidates,  and  the  next  election  only  gave  his 
candidate  two  votes.  Next  day  our  barber  was 
missing.  Public  vandalism  had  crushed  him. 

"We  have  procured  a  new  barber.  He  is  in  the 
dyeing  line  of  business.  It  is  the  color,  not  the 
quantity  of  hair,  that  engages  all  his  lubricating 
efforts.  To  convert  the  frost  of  age  into  a  black  or 
brown  scalp  is  the  highest  ambition  of  his  genius. 
Not  only  that :  he  anticipates  time,  and  suggests 


162         SPAKKOWGRASS    PAPERS. 

preventive  treatment  to  younger  men.  To  me  lie 
is  excessively  tiresome. 

I  have  bought  me  a  new  dog.  A  snow-white 
terrier,  with  rose-colored  ears  and  paws.  She  is  as 
white  as  new-plucked  cotton,  or  February  clouds. 
All  our  other  dogs,  Jack,  Zack,  and  Flora,  are 
black;  Juno,  by  contrast,  looks  strikingly  white. 
One  day,  I  found  four  black  dogs  under  the  porch. 
Of  the  four,  I  should  say  Juno  was  the  blackest. 
She  had  been  to  the  barber's  on  a  visit,  and  he  had 
given  her  a  coat  of  his  confounded  Praxitiles  bal 
sam.  Now  she  is  growing  out  of  it,  but  her  present 
appearance  is  so  repulsive  the  other  dogs  will  not 
associate  with  her.  Some  day  I  mean  to  give  that 
barber  a  talking  to  about  the  matter. 

Who  that  loves  nature  can  forsake  the  country  in 
October  ?  Before  the  leaves  full,  before  "  the  fly 
ing  gold  of  the  woodlands  drive  through  the  air," 
we  must  visit  our  old  friends  opposite — the  Pali- 
eades.  We  must  bring  forth  our  boat  once  more, 
and  "white-ash  it"  over  the  blue  river  to  the 
"  Chimneys"  "  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass  ?"  Mrs.  S.  replied,  she  was  willing. 
So,  then,  on  Saturday,  if  the  weather  be  fair,  we 
will  make  our  final  call  upon  them.  The  weather 


A    PARTY    ON    THE    WATEK.          163 

was  fair,  the  air  warm,  the  sky  clear,  the  river 
smooth,  the  boat  in  order,  and  over  we  went.  I 
had  invited  a  German  gentleman,  Mr.  Sumach,  to 
accompany  us,  on  account  of  his  flute.  He  is  a 
very  good  performer  on  that  instrument,  and  mu 
sic  always  sounds  to  great  advantage  upon  the  wa 
ter.  "When  we  approached  the  great  cliffs,  Mr. 
Sumach  opened  his  case  and  took  therefrom  the 
joints  of  an  extraordinarily  large  flute.  Then  he 
moistened  the  joints  and  put  it  together.  Then  he 
held  it  up  and  arranged  the  embouchure  to  his 
satisfaction,  and  then  he  wiped  it  off  with  his  hand 
kerchief.  Then  he  held  it  up  again  at  right  angles, 
and  an  impudent  boy  in  another  boat,  fishing,  told 
him  he'd  better  take  in  his  boom  if  he  did  not  want 
to  jibe.  Then  Mr.  Sumach  ran  rapidly  through  a 
double  octave,  executed  a  staccato  passage  with 
wonderful  precision,  and  wound  up  with. a  pro 
longed  bray  of  great  brilliancy  and  power.  Then 
the  boy,  by  way  of 'jibing  himself,  imitated  the 
bleating  of  a  sheep.  Then  I  bent  the  white  ash 
•oars  to  get  out  of  the  reach  of  the  boy,  and  the 
blisters  on  my  hands  became  painfully  bloated. 
Then  Mr.  Sumach,  who  had  been  trilling  enough 
to  make  anybody  nervous,  proposed  that  we  should 


164         SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

sing  something.  Then  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  sug 
gested  "  Home,  Sweet  Home."  Then  we  com 
menced  (flute  obligate.) 

HOME,  SWEET  HOME ! 

WITH    VARIATIONS. 

"  Mid  (taw-tawtle)  pala — (tawtle) 

Though-oh !  (taw tie-taw !) 
Be  it  (taw-tawtle)  hum — (tawtle) 

Taw,  tawtle-taw !    (rapid   and   difficult  passage,  ending 

with  an  inimitable  shake). 
A  cha — (tawtle)  skies !  (tawtle)  halo  (taw,  taw) 

Which  (taw-tawtle)  world  (taw)  not  (taw-tawtle)  where. 
Home!  (trill  B  flat)  Hoem!  (rapid  and  difficult  passage) 

Sweet !  (toodle)  sweet !  (toodle)  home  !  (toodle) 
Be  it  (tawtle-de-doodle-diddle-doodle — taw)  'ble, 

There's  no-oh  !  (toodle  !)  home!" 

By  this  time  we  had  reached  the  base  of  the 
Palisades. 

Now  then — here  we  are  !  A  segment  of  sand 
you  might  cover  with  a  blanket,  and  all  the  rest  of 
the  beach  a  vast  wreck  of  basaltic  splinters !  Rocks, 
rocks,  rocks  !  From  bits  not  larger  than  a  water 
melon,  up  to  fragments  the  size  of  the  family  tea- 
table.  All  these  have  fallen  off  those  upper  cliffs 


THE    REFRESHMENTS.  165 

you  see  rising  from  the  gold,  brown,  and  crimson 
of  autumnal  leaves.  Look  up  !  No  wonder  it  makes 
you  dizzy  to  look  up.  What  is  that  bird  ?  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass,  that  is  an  eagle  ! 

It  was  a  pleasant  thing,  after  we  had  secured  the 
boat  by  an  iron  grapnel,  to  pick  our  way  over  the 
sharp  rocks ;  now  holding  by  a  lithe  cedar,  now 
swinging  around  a  jutting  crag  by  a  pendulous, 
wild  grape-vine,  anon  stepping  from  block  to  block, 
with  a  fine  river  view  in  front  and  below  ;  and  then 
coming  suddenly  upon  the  little  nook  where  lay  the 
flat  stone  we  were  in  quest  of;  and  then  came  the 
great  cloth-spreading,  and  opening  of  the  basket ! 
And  we  took  from  the  basket,  first  a  box  of  matches, 
and  a  bundle  of  choice  segars  of  delicate  flavor. 
Xext  two  side  bottles  of  claret.  Then  we  lifted  out 
carefully  a  white  napkin,  containing  only  one  fowl, 
and  that  not  fat.  Then  two  pies,  much  the  worse 
for  the  voyage.  Then  two  more  bottles  of  claret. 
Then  another  centre-piece — ham  sandwiches.  Then 
a  bundle  of  knives  and  forks,  a  couple  of  cork 
screws,  a  tier  of  plates,  six  apples,  and  a  half  bottle 
of  olives.  Then  twenty-seven  hickory  nuts,  and  a 
half  dozen  nut-crackers.  And  then  came  the 
cheese,  and  the  manuscript. 


166         SPARROW  GRASS    PAPERS. 

Oh,  golden  November  sky,  and  tawny  river! 
bland  distance  and  rugged  foreground  !  wild,  crim 
son  vines,  green  cedars,  many-colored,  deciduous 
foliage,  grey  precipices,  and  delicious  claret ! 
What  an  afternoon  that  was,  under  the  Palisades  ! 

"Mr.  Sumach,'"  said  I,  after  the  pippins  and 
cheese,  "  if  you  will  cast  your  eyes  up  beyond  the 
trees,  above  those  upper  trees,  and  follow  the  face 
of  the  precipice  in  a  direct  line  for  some  four  hun 
dred  feet  perpendicularly,  you  will  see  a  slight  jut 
ting  out  of  rock,  perhaps  twenty  feet  below  the  top 
of  the  crags."  Mr.  Sumach  replied,  the  sun  was 
shining  so  brilliantly,  just  then,  upon  that  identical 
spot,  that  he  could  see  nothing  at  all.  As,  upon 
careful  inspection,  I  could  not  see  the  spot  myself, 
I  was  obliged  to  console  myself  with  another  sip  of 
claret.  Yet  there  it  was  !  Just  above  us ! 

"  Mr.  Sumach,"  said  I,  "  I  wish  you  could  see  it, 
for  it  is  one  of  the  curiosities  of  our  country.  You 
know  we  have  five  wonders  of  the  world  in  Ame 
rica — the  Falls  of  Niagara,  the  Natural  Bridge  in 
Virginia,  the  Mammoth  Cave  of  Kentucky,  Tren 
ton  Falls,  and  the  Palisades.  Now,  sir,  just  above 
us,  almost  at  the  brink  of  that  dizzy  height,  there 
is  a  singular  testimony  of  the  freaks  of  nature. 


CHIP:  FLY    DESCRIPTIVE.  167 

That  tough  old  rock,  sir,  has  had  a  piece  taken  out 
of  it — squarely  out,  by  lightning  probably,  and  the 
remnants  of  the  vast  mass  now  lie  around  us,  cov 
ered  with  lichens,  nutshells,  dead  leaves,  table 
cloth,  and  some  claret  bottles.  If  you  will  go  with 
me,  some  two  miles  north,  there  is  a  path  up  the 
mountains,  and  we  can  then  walk  along  the  top  of 
the  vast  precipice  to  the  spot  directly  over  us." 
Mr.  Sumach  declined,  on  the  ground  of  not  being 
accustomed  to  such  rough  walking.  "Then,  sir, 
let  me  describe  it  to  you.  From  that  jutting  but 
tress  of  rock  in  front,  to  the  opening  there,  just 
back  of  you,  there  is  a  flat  platform  above  us,  wide 
enough  for  a  man  to  lie  down  with  his  head  close 
to  the  inner  wall  and  his  feet  a  few  inches  over  the 
precipice.  That  platform  is  probably  one  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  long;  the  wall  behind  it  is  some 
twenty  feet  high  ;  there  is  a  little  ravine,  indicated 
by  the  gap  up  there,  by  which  you  can  reach  the 
platform.  Once  on  it,  you  will  see  the  wall  back 
of  you  is  very  flat  and  even,  as  well  as  the  stone  floor 
you  tread  upon."  Mr.  Sumach  answered,  "  Yery 
well  ?"  in  a  tone  of  inquiry.  "  Now,''  said  I,  "  here 
in  this  paper  is  the  Legend  of  the  Palisades,  and  as 
we  are  upon  legendary  ground,  I  will  read  it  to 


168         SPARROWGRASS   PAPERS. 

you."  Mr.  Sumach,  with  a  despairing  look  at  his 
giant  flute-case,  said  lie  would  like  much  to  hear  it. 
So,  after  another  sip  of  claret,  I  unrolled  the  manu 
script  and  read 

A   LEGEND   OF   THE   PALISADES 

Long  before  the  white  sails  of  Europe  cast  their 
baleful  shadows  over  the  sunny  waters  of  the 
western  continent,  a  vast  portion  of  this  territory, 
bounded  by  perpetual  snows  and  perpetual  sum 
mer,  was  occupied  by  two  mighty  nations  of  red 
men.  The  Iroquois,  by  far  the  most  warlike  na 
tion,  dominated,  with  its  united  tribes,  the  inland 
from  Canada  to  North  Carolina,  and  east  and  west 
from  Central  Pennsylvania  to  Michigan  ;  while  the 
great  Algonquin  race  peopled  the  sea-board,  from 
Labrador  almost  to  the  Floridas,and  extending  itself 
westward,  even  to  the  borders  of  Oregon,  again 
stretched  away  beyond  the  waters  of  the  Mississippi, 
unto  the  lumtingTgrounds  of  the  swarthy  Appalach 
ians.  This  bright  river,  in  those  days,  flowed  down 
ward  to  the  sea  under  some  dark,  Indian  name  ;  and 
where  yonder  village  glitters  with  its  score  of  spires 
and  myriad  windows,  the  smoke  of  numerous  camp- 


A  LEGEND   OF  THE  PALISADES.      169 

fires  curled  amidst  pointed  wigwams,  of  poles,  and 
skins,  and  birch-bark  wrought  with  barbaric  cha 
racters. 

Of  the  Algonquin  tribes,  that  formerly  inhabited 
the  banks  of  this  mighty  stream,  tradition  has 
scarcely  preserved  a  name.  A  handful  of  colored, 
earthen  beads,  a  few  flint  arrow-heads,  are  the  sole 
memorials  of  a  once  great  populace.  But  tradition, 
with  wonderful  tenacity,  clings  to  its  legends. 
Even  from  the  dross  of  nameless  nations,  some  gol 
den  deed  shines  forth,  with  a  lustre  antiquity  can 
not  tarnish.  So  among  the  supernatural  songs  of 
the  Iroquois  we  find  a  living  parable. 

Long  before  the  coming  of  the  pale-faces,  there 
was  a  great  warrior  of  the  Onondaga-Iroquois,  by 
name  "  The  Big  Papoose."  He  had  a  round,  small, 
smooth  face,  like  that  of  a  child,  but  his  arms  were 
long,  and  his  shoulders  broad  and  powerful  as  the 
branches  of  an  oak.  At  the  council  fires  he  spoke 
not,  at  hunting  parties  he  was  indolent,  and  of  the 
young  squaws  none  could  say,  "he  loves  me."  But 
if  he  spoke  not  at  the  council,  fires,  the  people  knew 
the  scalps  in  his  wigwam  were  numerous  as  the 
cones  upon  the  pine  tree ;  and  if  he  cared  not  for 
hunting,  yet  he  wore  a  triple  collar  made  of  the 

8 


170  S P AKEO WGB A88     FAPEES. 

claws  of  three  grizzly  bears,  and  the  old  braves 
loved  to  sing  of  the  great  elk  he  had  pursued  and 
killed  with  a  blow  of  his  stone  axe,  when  his  feet 
were  as  the  wings  of  a  swallow.  True  it  was,  the 
love  that  is  so  common  to  man,  the  love  of  woman, 
was  not  in  his  breast ;  but  the  brightest  and  boldest 
maiden's  eyes  dropped  in  his  presence,  and  many  a 
time  the  bosoms  of  the  young  squaws  would  heave 
— -just  a  little.  Yet  the  Big  Papoose  was  the  friend 
of  children.  Who  bound  the  tiny,  flint  arrow-he^ds 
to  the  feathered  shafts,  and  strung  the  little  bow 
with  the  sinews  of  deer,  and  practised  the  boy-war 
riors  of  the  tribe  in  mimic  warfare,  and  taught  them 
to  step  with  the  foot  of  the  sparrow,  and  to  trap  the 
fox,  the  rabbit,  and  the  beaver,  and  to  shout  the 
death- whoop,  the  sa  sa  Jcuan  f  "Who  was  it,  but 
the  Big  Papoose  lying  yonder,  face  downward,  on 
the  frozen  crust  of  the  lake,  his  head  covered  with 
skins,  and  around  him  a  score  of  boy-warriors,  lying 
face  downward  too,  watching  the  fish  below, 
through  the  holes  in  the  ice,  that  they  might  strike 
them  with  the  pointed  javelin,  the  aishkun  f  Yes, 
he  was  the  friend  of  children,  the  Big  Papoose ! 
There  was  then  a  very  old  brave  of  the  Onondaga 
tribe ;  his  hair  was  like  the  foam  of  the  waterfall, 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  PALISADES.       171 

and  his  eyes  were  deep  and  dark  as  the  pool  be 
neath  it.  He  was  so  old  that  he  could  lay  his  hand 
upon  the  head  of  a  hundred  years  and  say — "  boy  !" 

He  it  was  who  had  found,  far  in  the  north,  under 
the  uttermost  stars,  the  sacred  pieces  of  copper ;  he 
it  was  who  had  seen  the  great  fish,  so  large  that  a 
single  one  could  drink  up  the  lake  at  a  mouthful, 
and  the  great  Thunder  Water  he  had  seen — Niag 
ara  !  and  the  cavern,  big  enough  to  contain  all  the 
Indian  tribes,  the  Iroquois  and  the  Algonquins  ;  and 
the  stone  arch  that  held  up  the  skies,  the  sun,  and 
moon,  and  the  clouds  he  had  stood  beneath,  and  he 
had  seen  it. 

He  was  called  The  White  Cloud,  and  sometimes, 
when  the  summer's  heat  had  been  too  powerful 
upon  the  earth,  and  the  green  leaves  of  the  maize 
drooped  too  much,  he  would  bring  forth  the  magic 
red  pipe,  and  smoke,  and  blow  the  smoke  towards 
the  west,  and  then  the  vapors  would  rise  up  from 
the  great  lake  Ontario,  and  approach  him,  and 
overshadow  him,  and  the  rain  would  fall,  and  the 
leaves  rise  up  refreshed,  and  the  little  birds  would 
sing  loudly  in  the  wet  forest.  Then,  too,  would  the 
Big  Papoose  sit  on  the  same  log  with  the  White 
Cloud,  and  ask  him  to  tell  of  the  mysteries  of  the 


172          SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

V 

skies,  and  the  Sachem  would  chant  of  the  White 
Rabbit  of  the  North,  the  Queen  of  the  Heavens, 
that  holds  dominion  over  the  uttermost  stars,  and 
the  snows  of  winter ;  that  hides  in  the  summer, 
when  the  sun  is  powerful,  that  she  may  rival  his 
brightness  in  the  season  of  frost. 

One  day  the  Big  Papoose  said  to  the  old  chief — 
"  Why,  oh  White  Cloud,  do  you  ever  blow  the 
smoke  of  the  calumet  towards  the  west ;  is  there 
not  rain  too  in  the  east  ?"  Then  the  white-haired 
answered — "  Because  I  like  not  the  visions  I  see 
when  I  blow  the  smoke  towards  the  east.  As  the 
smoke  from  the  calumet  moves  westward,  I  behold 
in  it  nations  of -red  men,  moving,  and  ever  moving, 
towards  the  caverns  of  the  sun.  But  when  I  blow 
the  smoke  towards  the  east,  I  see  the  red  men  no 
more,  but  the  glitter  of  mighty  waters,  and  winged 
canoes,  in  size  like  the  lofty  hemlocks  of  the  forest, 
and  potent  arrows  of  fire,  that  dart  forth  with  clouds 
and  thunderings.  And  further  and  further  towards 
the  east,  I  see  more  and  more  of  the  winged  canoes, 
in  number  like  the  leaves  that  are  blown  by  the 
winds  of  autumn,  and  the  winged  canoes  bear 
many  nations,  and  in  the  approaching  nations  I  see 
not  one  red  man."  "  I  have  dreamed,"  replied  the 


A    LEGEND    OF    THE    PALISADES.      ITS 

young  warrior,  "  of  a  maiden  whose  eyes  were  in 
color  like  yonder  lake,  and  whose  skin  was  beauti 
ful  as  the  snow  at  sunset."  "  Do  you  not  think  of 
her  often ;  more  than  of  the  women  of  the  Onon- 
dagas  ?"  said  the  White  Cloud.  The  young  war 
rior  bowed  his  head.  "  The  time  will  come,"' 
said  the  old  chief,  "  when  the  woman  with  blue 
eyes  will  think  of  the  young  chief  of  the  Onon- 
dagas."  "  "When  ?"  said  the  listener,  eagerly.  The 
White  Cloud  touched  with  his  finger  a  young  pine, 
whose  stem  was  not  thicker  than  a  stalk  of  maize 
one  moon  old,  and  replied,  "  When  this  trunk  shall 
have  grown  so  a  man  may  stretch  his  arms  around  it, 
and  yet  his  right  hand  cannot  meet  his  left,  then 
will  the  young  chief  of  the  Onondagas  live  in  the 
thoughts  of  the  maiden  with  the  skin  like  the  flush 
of  sunset  on  the  snow."  "  You  speak  truth,"  an 
swered  the  young  chief,  "  so,  too,  have  I  dreamed." 
"  Tell  me,"  continued  the  white-haired  prophet, 
"  whom  do  you  envy  of  living  men  ?"  "  Not  one," 
replied  the  young  warrior.  "  Whom  of  the  dead 
do  you  envy  ?"  tl  The  warriors  who  are  dead  in 
battle,  and  yet  live  famousest  in  the  songs  of  the 
Iroquois."  "  Look !"  said  the  prophet.  A  volume 
of  smoke  arose  from  the  red  pipe,  and  the  old  man 


SPABROWGKASS    PAPERS. 


blew  it  gently  towards  the  east.  The  Iroquois  saw 
it  spread  into  a  plain,  variegated  with  hills  and 
rivers,  and  the  villages  of  his  tribe.  Then  it  passed 
beyond  the  boundaries  of  his  nation,  and  he  recog 
nized  the  habitations  of  the  Algonquins ;  he  saw 
their  burial-places,  and  the  stretched  skins  with  the 
accursed  totems  of  his  hereditary  enemies  ;  he  saw, 
too,  the  noted  warriors  of  their  tribes,  the  women, 
the  medicine-men,  and  the  children.  Then  the 
cloud  rose  up  over  a  mountain,  and  he  looked  from 
its  level  summit  down  upon  a  sparkling  river, 
broader  than  the  rivers  of  his  own  country,  and 
beyond,  on  the  opposite  side,  villages  of  Algonquin 
tribes,  the  wigwams  of  the  Nepperhans.  And  he 
was  standing  on  the  brink  of  gigantic  cliffs,  whose 
vast  shadows  lay  midway  across  the  sparkling 
river ;  and,  as  he  looked,  his  foot  touched  a  frag 
ment  of  rock,  and  it  fell  sheer  down  from  the 
summit  of  the  precipice  to  its  base,  and  struck  no 
thing  as  it  fell.  And  just  beyond  him  was  a  shelf 
of  rock  hanging  over  a  terrible  shore — huge  splin 
ters  of  stone  below,  under  his  feet,  and  as  his  eyes 
wandered  up  and  down  the  sparkling  river,  far  as 
his  vision  reached,  the  great  shadow  of  the  preci 
pices,  and  the  savage  walls  of  stone,  and  the  frag- 


A    LEGEND    OF    THE    PALISADES.     175 

mentary  shore  went  on  unending.  Then  the  spark 
ling  river  grew  dimmer,  and  the  rocks  faded  from, 
view,  and  he  saw  only  the  blue  sky,  and  the  clouds, 
and  high  up  in  the  east,  an  eagle.  "  My  son,"  said 
the  white-haired,  "  you  have  seen  it.  ToLinorrow 
night,  loosen  the  thongs  of  your  moccasins  beyond 
the  wigwams  of  the  Iroquois.  In  the  country  of  the 
Algonquins,  are  those  wondrous  precipices,  and 
before  seven  days  you  will  see  the  eastern  sun 
rising  over  the  sparkling  river.  Take  with  you 
this  bag  of  pigments  and  painting  implements.  On 
the  bare  rocks,  above  the  platform  you  have  seen, 
inscribe  the  totem  of  your  tribe,  and  the  record  of 
your  achievements.  Go !  I  say  no  more." 

Then  the  White  Cloud  put  the  tube  of  the  calu 
met  to  his  lips,  and  as  the  smoke  arose  from  the 
kinikinic,  the  bowl  of  the  red  pipe  expanded  wider 
and  wider,  and  the  blue  vapor  spread  out  like  the 
mist  that  rises  from  a  lake  in  a  midsummer  morn 
ing.  Then  there  came  a  powerful  wind  from  the 
east,  and  the  smoke  rolled  away  before  it,  and  was 
driven,  with  inconceivable  swiftness,  over  the  Lake 
Ontario,  until  it  grew  red  under  the  sinking  sun, 
and  passed  to  the  far  off  hunting-grounds  of  the 
Dacotahs.  The  young  chief  watched  until  it  van- 


176  SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

ished,  and  then  turned  to  his  companion.  There 
was  nothing  near  him  but  the  green  grass  and  the 
slender  pine  the  White  Cloud  had  touched  with  his 
finger. 

Then  the  Big  Papoose  took  the  bag  of  pigments 
to  his  wigwam,  and  prepared  for  the  journey. 
Around  his  broad  chest  he  drew  the  folds  of  a  gor 
geous  hunting-shirt,  decorated  with  many-hued 
barbs  of  the  porcupine,  and  secured  it  with  a  gaudy 
belt  of  wampum.  His  leggings  were  fringed  with 
the  hair  of  scalps,  and  Indian  beads  and  shells  of 
various  colors,  and  his  moccasins  were  wrought 
with  quills,  tinted  like  flowers  of  the  prairie.  Then 
he  took  from  the  notched  poles  of  the  wigwam  his 
tufted  bow,  and  a  sheaf  of  arrows  tipped  with  bril 
liant  feathers,  and  he  thrust  the  stone  axe  through 
his  belt  of  wampum,  and  shook  once  more  the  slen 
der  spear-staff,  with  its  ponderous  head  of  pointed 
flint.  And  as  he  passed  on  beyond  the  wigwams 
of  his  tribe,  the  young  squaws  gazed  after  him  with 
wondrous  dark  eyes,  and  the  old  women  said, 
"  Perhaps  he  will  bring  with  him,  when  he  returns, 
a  Chenango  woman,  or  a  squaw  from  the  blue  Sus- 
quehanna." 

Twice  the  moon  rose,  and  he  saw  the  maize  fields 


AN    INTERRUPTION.  177 

of  the  Algonquins.  Later  and  later  she  glittered 
over  his  solitary  path  by  the  rocky  gorges  of  the 
Delaware.  Then  he  saw  in  the  north  the  misty 
mountains  of  Shawangonk,  and  lodges  of  hostile 
tribes  without  number,  and  other  maize  fields, 
and  at  night  the  camp-fires  of  a  great  people. 
Then  he  came  to  shallow  rivers  dotted  with  canoes, 
but  the  streams  were  less  broad  than  the  river  of 
the  Oswegos.  And  then  he  saw  before  him  a 
sloping  upland,  and  just  as  the  moon  and  the  dawn 
were  shining  together,  he  stood  under  tall  trees  on 
the  summit,  and  beneath  him  was  the  platform  of 
rock,  and  the  waters  of  the  sparkling  river. 

X 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  "  I  am  sorry 
to  interrupt  you,  but  is  not  that  our  boat  out  there, 
going  up  the  river  ?"  "  Yes,"  added  Mr.  Sumach, 
suddenly  leaping  up  with  energy,  "  and  my  flute 
too,  I  believe."  "  It  cannot  be,"  I  replied,  "  for  I 
fastened  the  boat  with  an  iron  grapnel,"  and,  as  I 
did  not  like  to  be  interrupted  when  I  was  reading, 
told  Mr.  Sumach,  very  quietly,  but  severely,  he 
would  find  his  bassoon  just  back  of  our  stone  table. 
The  explanation  being  satisfactory,  I  was  allowed 
to  proceed  with  the  legend. 

8* 


178  SPARROWGRASS   PAPERS. 

There  was  a  pathway  to  the  platform,  as  it  might 
be,  a  channel  for  the  heavy  rains  that  sometimes 
pour  from  the  table-lands  of  the  precipice  to  the 
ravine,  and  tumble,  in  a  long,  feathery  torrent  over 
its  rocky  breast.  It  was  a  narrow  passage,  with 
walls  of  stone  on  either  side,  and  ended  j  ust  a  few 
feet  south  of  the  jutting  ledge,  so  that  the  young 
chief  had  to  leap  from  the  brink  of  the  gorge  to 
the  edge  of  the  platform.  Then  he  looked  around, 
and  behind  him  rose  up  the  flat  surface  of  thunder- 
split  rock.  Then  he  walked  to  the  further  end  of 
it,  and  laid  upon  the  ground  his  tufted  bow  and 
sheaf  of  arrows,  loosened  his  belt  of  wampum,  cast 
down  his  terrible  stone  axe,  and  leaned  his  pointed  • 
spear  against  the  vast  wall  of  the  terrace.  Then  he 
took  from  the  bag  the  pigments  and  the  painting 
implements,  and  before  mid-day  he  had  sketched 
upon  the  rocky  back-ground  the  vast  outlines  of 
his  picture. 

It  was  at  the  moment  when  he  had  completed 
the  totem  of  his  tribe,  when  he  was  nearest  the 
gorge  and  furthest  from  his  weapons,  that  a  fawn 
darted  from  the  chasm  to  the  plateau,  gathered  up 
its  affrighted  form  at  sight  of  him,  and  then  sprang 
sheer  over  the  brink.  The  next  instant  an  Algon- 


A    LEGEND    OF    THE    PALISADES.     179 

quin  warrior  leaped  upon  the  ledge.  A  startled 
look  at  the  Iroquois — a  contemptuous  glance  at  the 
pictograph — two  panther  bounds — and  the  heredi 
tary  foes  were  struggling  in  a  death-grapple  upon 
the  eaves  of  the  precipice.  Sometimes  they  leaned 
far  over  the  brink,  and  then  unitedly  bent  back, 
like  twin  pine  trees  over-blown.  Both  were  un 
armed,  for  the  Algonquin  had  not  suspected  an 
enemy  in  a  place  where  the  foot  of  Iroquois  had 
never  trod,  and  the  weapons  of  his  adversary  were 
distant  from  them  a  bow-shot.  So,  with  terrible 
strength,  and  zeal,  and  skill,  each  sought  to  over- 
thr«w  the  other,  until  in  the  struggle  they  fell,  still 
clutched  together,  upon  the  rocky  floor  of  the  bat 
tle-ground.  There,  with  tremendous  throes  and 
throbs  of  anger,  they  lay,  until  the  shadows  of  the 
cliffs  had  stretched  far  over  the  bosom  of  the  spark 
ling  river. 

"  Let  us  rise,"  said  the  Algonquin.  The  warriors 
rose  to  their  feet  and  stood  gazing  at  each  other. 

There  they  were  upon  that  terrible  brink,  within 
reach  of  each  other.  A  touch  of  the  hand  would 
have  precipitated  either  upon  the  fragmentary 
shore  below. 

"  Let  us  not  perish,"  said  the  Algonquin,  "  like 


180         SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS.. 

the  raccoon  and  the  fox,  starving  in  the  death-lock, 
but  let  us  die  like  braves.'5* 

The  Iroquois  listened. 

"  Do  you  go,"  continued  the  Algonquin,  "  tell 
the  warriors  of  my  tribe  to  come,  that  they  may 
witness  it,  and  I  will  leap  with  you  from  this  ledge 
upon  the  death  below." 

The  Iroquois  smiled. 

" Stay,"  added  the  Algonquin,  "I  am  a  child. 
Do  I  not  know  the  fate  of  an  Iroquois  who  would 
venture  within  the  camp  of  my  people  ?  Remain 
you,  until  my  return,  that  the  history  of  my  deed 
may  be  inscribed  with  that  you  have  pictured  upon 
these  rocks." 

The  Iroquois  smiled  again,  and  said,  "  I  wait." 

The  Algonquin  bounded  from  the  parapet  and 
was  gone. 

Left  to  himself,  the  Iroquois  collected  together  his 
painting  implements,  and  filled  with  brilliant  colors 
the  outlines  he  had  sketched  upon  the  wall.  Then 
he  cast  his  spear  far  into  the  sparkling  river,  and 
sent  the  stone  axe  circling  though  the  air  until  it 
splashed  far  out  in  the  stream,  and  he  broke  the 
tufted  bow  with  his  powerful  arms,  and  snapped 
his  feathered  arrows  one  by  one.  Then  he  girded 


A    LEGEND    OF    THE    PALISADES.      181 

on  his  gorgeous  belt  of  wampum,  and  waited.  Of 
•whom,  was  he  dreaming  as  he  sat  beneath  the  sha 
dow  of  the  pictograph  ?  Was  it  not  of  the  blue- 
eyed  maiden  with  cheeks  like  the  flush  of  sunset 
on  the  snow  ? 

The  Iroquois  waited.  Then  he  heard  a  murmur, 
as  of  the  wind  stirring  the  leaves,  then  the  rush  of 
rapid  footsteps,  and,  as  he  started  to  his  feet,  the 
cliffs  above  him  were  thronged  with  Algonquin  war 
riors.  There  was  silence  for  an  instant,  and  then 
an  hundred  bows  were  bent,  an  hundred  bow 
strings 'snapped,  an  hundred  arrows  converged 
through  the  air  and  struck  him  !  But  as  he  turned 
to  hurl  defiance  at  his  enemies,  a  lithe  form 
bounded  upon  the  parapet — it  caught  the  figure 
studded  with  arrows  and  tottering  upon  the  brink 
in  its  arms — and  screamed  into  the  dying  ears — 
"  I  am  here,  oh,  Iroquois !"  and  then,  except  the 
pictograph,  nothing  human  remained  upon  the 
platform  of  the  Palisades  ! 

When  I  had  finished  the  legend,  Mr.  Sumach 
startled  the  echoes  with  a  burst  of  fluting  that  defies 
description.  So  I  set  to  work  resolutely  to  pack  up 
the  basket,  for  I  thought  such  a  place  as  the  one 


182         SPAEROWGBASS    PAPEES. 

we  were  visiting  did  not  require  the  aid  of  art  to 
make  it  interesting.  After  the  packing  was  fin 
ished,  we  started  off  for  the  boat,  Mr.  Sumach  toot 
ing  over  the  rocks  in  a  marvellous  manner,  until 
we  came  to  the  place  where  some  climbing  was 
necessary,  and  there  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
the  flute  dislocated  and  cased,  and  then  it  fell  in 
the  water,  when  Mr.  S.  had  some  trouble  to  get  at 
it.  When  we  got  to  the  place  of  anchorage,  we 
found  the  tide  had  risen  and  the  grapnel  under  wa 
ter,  but  no  boat ;  so  I  suppose  the  other  end  of  the 
rope  had  not  been  tied  to  the  ring  in  the  bow. 
We  had  a  pretty  walk,  though,  to  Closter,  and  hired 
another  boat.  As  our  boat  was  brought  home  next 
day  it  was  no  great  matter  ;  but  I  wished  the  per 
son  who  found  it  for  us  had  found  also  the  oars 
and  the  thole  pins. 


THE    CHILDREN    SENT    TO    SCHOOL.    183 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

The  Children  are  sent  to  School—  Old  Soldiers—  An  Invitation,  and  Cruel  Dis 
appointment  —  Our  Eldest  begins  to  show  Symptoms  of  the  Tender  Passion  — 
Poetry—  The  Melodies  of  Mother  Goose—  Little  Posterity  by  the  Wayside—  A 
Casualty—  The  Drowning  of  Poor  Little  Tommy. 


have  sent  the  children  to  school.  Under 
the  protecting  wing  of  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  our  two 
eldest  boys  passed  in  safety  through  the  narrow 
channel  of  orthography,  and  were  fairly  launched 
upon  the  great  ocean  of  reading  before  a  teacher 
was  thought  of.  But  when  boys  get  into  defini 
tions,  and  words  more  than  an  inch  long,  it  is  time 
to  put  them  out,  and  pay  their  bills  once  a  quarter. 
Our  little  maid,  five  years  old,  must  go  with  them, 
too.  The  boys  stipulated  that  she  should  go, 
although  she  had  never  gone  beyond  E  in  the 
alphabet  before.  When  I  came  home  from  the 
city  in  the  evening,  I  found  them  with  their  new 
carpet-satchels  all  ready  for  the  morning.  There 
was  quite  a  hurrah!  when  I  came  in,  and  they 
swung  their  book-knapsacks  over  each  little  shoul- 


181         SPARROW  GRASS    PAPERS. 

der  by  a  strap,  and  stepped  out  with  great  pride, 
when  I  said,  "  "Well  done,  ray  old  soldiers."  Next 
morning  we  saw  the  old  soldiers  marching  up  the 
garden-path  to  the  gate,  and  then  the  little  proces 
sion  halted ;  and  the  boys  waved  their  caps,  and 
one  dear  little  toad  kissed  her  mitten  at  us — and 
then  away  they  went  with  such  cheerful  faces. 
Poor  old  soldiers!  what  a  long,  long  siege  you 
have  before  you ! 

Thank  Heaven  for  this  great  privilege,  that  our 
little  ones  go  to  school  in  the  country.  Not  in  the 
narrow  streets  of  the  city ;  not  over  the  flinty 
pavements ;  not  amid  the  crush  of  crowds,  and  the 
din  of  wheels :  but  out  in  the  sweet  woodlands  and 
meadows ;  out  in  the  open  air,  and  under  the  blue 
sky — cheered  on  by  the  birds  of  spring  and  sum 
mer,  or  braced  by  the  stormy  winds  of  ruder 
seasons.  Learning  a  thousand  lessons  city  children 
never  learn  ;  getting  nature  by  heart— and  treasur 
ing  up  in  their  little  souls  the  beautiful  stories 
written  in  God's  great  picture-book. 

"Wo  have  stirring  times  now  when  the  old  soldiers 
come  home  from  school  in  the  afternoon.  The 
whole  household  is  put  under  martial  law  until  the 
old  soldiers  get  their  rations.  Bless  their  white 


LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS.  185 

heads,  how  hungry  they  are.  Once  in  a  while  they 
get  pudding,  by  way  of  a  treat.  Then  what  chuck 
ling  and  rubbing  of  little  fists,  and  cheers,  as  the 
three  white  heads  touch  each  other  over  the  pan. 
I  think  an  artist  could  make  a  charming  picture  of 
that  group  of  urchins,  especially  if  he  painted 
them  in  their  school-knapsacks. 

Sometimes  we  get  glimpses  of  their  minor  world 
— its  half-fledged  ambitions,  its  puny  cares,  its  hopes 
and  its  disappointments.  The  first  afternoon  they 
returned  from  school,  open  flew  every  satchel,  and 
out  came  a  little  book.  A  conduct-book !  There 
was  G.  for  good  boy,  and  R.  for  reading,  and  S. 
for  spelling,  and  so  on  ;  and  opposite  every  letter  a 
good  mark.  From  the  early  records  in  the  con 
duct-books,  the  school-mistress  must  have  had  an 
elegant  time  of  it  for  the  first  few  days,  with  the 
old  soldiers.  Then  there  came  a  dark  day ;  and  or 
that  afternoon,  from  the  force  of  circumstances, 
the  old  soldiers  did  not  seem  to  care  about  showing 
up.  Every  little  reluctant  hand,  however,  went 
into  its  satchel  upon  requisition,  and  out  came  the 
records.  It  was  evident,  from  a  tiny  legion  of 
crosses  in  the  books,  that  the  mistress's  duties  had 
been  rather  irksome  that  morning.  So  the  small 


1S6          SPARKOWGKABS    PAPERS. 

column  was  ordered  to  deploy  in  line  of  battle, 
and,  after  a  short  address,  dismissed — without  pud 
ding.  In  consequence,  the  old  soldiers  now  get 
some  good  marks  every  day. 

We  begin  to  observe  the  first  indications  of  a 
love  for  society  growing  up  with  their  new  expe 
riences.  It  is  curious  to  see  the  tiny  filaments  of 
friendship  putting  forth,  and  winding  their  fragile 
tendrils  around  their  small  acquaintances.  What 
a  little  world  it  is — the  little  world  that  is  allowed 
to  go  into  the  menagerie  at  half  price !  Has  it 
not  its  joys  and  its  griefs;  its  cares  and  its  morti 
fications  ;  its  aspirations  and  its  despairs  ?  One 
day  the  old  soldiers  came  home  in  high  feather, 
with  a  note.  An  invitation  to  a  party,  "  Master 
Millet's  compliments,  and  would  be  happy  to  see 
the  Masters,  and  Miss  Sparrowgrass  to  tea,  on 
Saturday  afternoon."  What  a  hurrah !  there  was, 
when  the  note  was  read;  and  how  the  round  eyes 
glistened  with  anticipation ;  and  how  their  cheeks 
glowed  with  the  run  they  had  had.  Not  an  inch 
of  the  way  from  school  had  they  walked,  with  that 
great  note  !  There  was  much  chuckling  over  their 
dinner,  too ;  and  we  observed  the  flush  never  left 
their  cheeks,  even  after  they  were  in  bed,  and  had 


A    SECRET    PASSION.  187 

been  asleep  for  hours.  Then  all  their  best  clothes 
had  to  be  taken  out  of  the  drawer  and  brushed ; 
and  the  best  collars  laid  out ;  and  a  small  silk 
apron,  with  profuse  ribbons,  improvised  for  our 
little  maid;  and  a  great  to-do  generally.  Next 
morning  I  left  them,  as  I  had  to  go  to  the  city;  but 
the  day  was  bright  and  beautiful.  At  noon,  the 
sky  grew  cloudy.  At  two  o'clock,  it  commenced 
raining.  At  three,  it  rained  steadily.  When  I 
reached  home  in  the  evening,  they  were  all  in  bed 
again ;  and  I  learned  they  had  been  prevented 
going  to  the  party  on  account  of  the  weather. 
"They  had  been  dreadfully  disappointed,"  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass  said ;  so  we  took  a  lamp  and  went 
up  to  have  a  look  at  them.  There  they  lay — the 
hopeful  roses  of  yesterday,  all  faded  ;  and  one  poor 
old  soldier  was  sobbing  in  his  sleep. 

"We  begin  to  think  our  eldest  is  nourishing  a 
secret  passion,  under  his  bell-buttons.  He  has 
been  seen  brushing  his  hair  more  than  once,  lately ; 
and,  not  long  since,  the  two  youngest  came  home 
from  school,  crying,  without  him.  Upon  investiga 
tion,  we  found  our  eldest  had  gone  off  with  a 
school-girl  twice  his  size;  and,  when  he  returned, 
he  said  he  had  only  gone  home  with  her,  because 


188          SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

she  promised  to  put  some  bay-rum  on  his  hair. 
He  has  even  had  the  audacity  to  ask  me  to  write  a 
piece  of  poetry  about  her,  and  of  course  I  com 
plied. 

TO  MY  BIG  SWEETHEART. 

My  love  has  long  brown  curls, 

And  blue  forget-me-not  eyes  ; 
She's  the  beauty  of  all  the  girls — 

But  I  wish  I  was  twice  my  size  ; 
Then  I  could  kiss  her  cheek, 

Or  venture  her  lips  to  taste  ; 
But  now  I  only  reach  to  the  ribbon 

She  ties  around  her  waist. 

Chocolate-drop  of  my  heart ! 

I  dare  not  breathe  thy  name ; 
Like  a  peppermint  stick  I  stand  apart 

In  a  sweet,  but  secret  flame  : 
When  you  look  down  on  me, 

And  the  tassel  atop  of  my  cap. 
I  feel  as  if  something  had  got  in  my  throat, 

And  was  choking  against  the  strap. 

I  passed  your  garden  and  there, 

On  the  clothes-lines,  hung  a  few 
Pantalettes,  and  one  tall  pair 

Reminded  me,  love,  of  you  ; 


MOTHER    GOOSE.  189 

And  I  thought,  as  I  swung  on  the  gate 

In  the  cold,  by  myself  alone, 
How  soon  the  sweetness  of  hoarhound  dies, 

But  the  bitter  keeps  on  and  on. 

It  was  quite  touching  to  see  how  solemnly  the 
old  soldiers  listened,  when  this  was  being  read  to 
them  ;  and  when  I  came  to  the  lines  : — 

"  I  feel  as  if  something  had  got  in  my  throat, 
And  was  choking  against  the  strap  " — 

Ivanhoe  looked  up  with  questioning  eyes,  as  if  he 
would  have  said,  "  how  did  you  know  that  ?" 

It  is  surprising  how  soon  children — all  children 
— begin  to  love  poetry.  That  dear  old  lady — 
Mother  Goose !  what  would  childhood  be  without 
her  ?  Let  old  Mother  Goose  pack  up  her  satchel 
and  begone,  and  a  dreary  world  this  would  be  for 
babies !  No  more  "  Pat-a-cake  baker's  man  ;"  no" 
more  "  Here  sits  the  Lord  Mayor ;"  no  more  "  This 
little  pig  went  to  market;"  no  more  "Jack  and 
Jill,"  going  up  the  hill  after  that  unfortunate  pail 
of  water ;  no  more  "  One,  two,  buckle  my  shoe  ;" 
and  "  Old  Mother  Hubbard,"  who  had  such  an 
uncommonly  brilliant  dog  ;  and  "  Simple  Simon," 
who  was  not  quite  so  simple  as  the  pieman  thought 


190         SPAEBOWGBASS    PA  PEES. 

he  was ;  and  "  Jacky  Horner,"  whose  thumb  stands 
out  in  childhood's  memory  like  Trajan's  legended 
pillar;  and  the  royal  architecture  of  "King  Bog- 
gin  ;  and  the  peep  into  court-life  derived  from  the 
wonderful  "  Song  of  Sixpence  :" — what  would  that 
dear  little  half-price  world  do  without  them  ? 
Sometimes,  too,  the  melodious  precepts  of  that 
kind  old  lady  save  a  host  of  rigid  moral  lessons — 
"Tell-tale-tit,"  and  "Cross-patch,  draw  the  latch," 
are  better  than  twenty  household  sermons.  And 
then  those  golden  legends  :  "  Bobby  Shaftoe  went 
to  sea;"  and  "Little  Miss  Muffitt,  who  sat  on  a 
tuffit ;"  and  the  charming  moon-story  of  "  Little 
Bo  Peep  with  her  shadowless  sheep ;"  and  the  capi 
tal  match  Jack  Sprat  made,  when  he  got  a  wife 
"  who  could  eat  no  lean  ;"  and  the  wisdom  of  that 
great  maxim  of  Mother  Goose  : — 

"  Birds  of  a  feather  flock  together." 

What  could  replace  these,  should  the  priceless 
volume  be  closed  upon  childhood  for  ever  ? 

When  we  think  of  the  great  world,  and  its  elabo 
rate  amusements — its  balls,  and  its  concerts ;  its 
theatres  and  its  opera-houses;  its  costly  dinners, 
and  toilsome  grand  parties  :  its  clanging  pianos, 


DELICATE    PERCEPTIONS.         191 

and  its  roaring  convival  songs ;  its  carved  furni 
ture,  splendid  diamonds,  rouge,  and  gilding ;  its 
hollow  etiquette,  and  its  sickly  sentimentalities, 
what  a  poor,  miserable  show  it  makes  beside  little 
Posterity,  with  his  toils  and  pleasures  ;  his  satchel, 
and  scraps  of  song,  sitting  by  bis  slender  pathway, 
and  watching  with  great  eyes  the  dazzling  pageant 
passing  by.  Little  Posterity !  Sitting  in  judg 
ment  by  the  wayside,  and  only  waiting  for  a  few 
years  to  close,  before  he  brings  in  his  solemn  ver 
dict. 

What  delicate  perceptions  children  have,  lively 
sympathies,  quick-eyed  penetration.  How  they 
shrink  from  hypocrisy,  let  it  speak  with  never  so 
soft  a  voice ;  and  open  their  little  chubby  arms, 
when  goodness  steps  into  the  room.  What  a  sad- 
faced  group  it  was  that  stood  upon  our  bank,  the 
day  little  Tommy  was  drowned. 

There  is  a  smooth  sand  beach  in  front  of  our 
house,  a  small  dock,  and  a  boat-house.  The  rail 
road  track  is  laid  between  the  bank  and  the  beach, 
so  that  you  can  look  out  of  the  car-windows  and 
see  the  river,  and  the  Palisades,  the  sloops,  the 
beach,  and  the  boat-house.  One  summer  after 
noon,  as  the  train  flew  by  the  cottage  (for  the 


192         SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

station  is  beyond  it  a  short  walk),  I  observed  quite 
a  concourse  of  people  on  one  side  of  the  track — on 
the  dock — and  sat  down  by  the  water's  edge.  So 
when  the  cars  stopped,  I  hurried  back  over  the 
iron  track  I  had  just  passed,  and  on  my  way  met  a 
man,  who  told  me  a  little  boy  was  drowned  in  the 
water  in  front  of  my  house.  What  a  desperate 
race  Sparrowgrass  ran  that  day,  with  the  image  of 
each  of  his  children  successively  drowned,  passing 
through  his  mind  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning 
flashes!  When  I  got  in  the  crowd  of  people,  I 
saw  a  poor  woman  lying  lifeless  in  the  arms  of  two 
other  women  ;  some  were  bathing  her  forehead, 
some  were  chafing  her  hands,  and  just  then  I 
heard  some  one  say,  "  It  is  his  mother,  poor  thing." 
How  cruel  it  was  in  me  to  whisper,  "Thank  God  !" 
but  could  I  help  it  ?  To  rush  up  the  bank,  to  get 
the  boat-house  key,  to  throw  open  the  outside 
doors,  and  swing  out  the  davits,  was  but  an 
instant's  work  ;  and  then  down  went  the  boat  from 
the  blocks,  and  a  volunteer  crew  had  pushed  her 
off  in  a  moment.  Then  they  slowly  rowed  her 
down  the  river,  close  in  shore ;  for  the  tide  was 
falling,  and  every  now  and  then  the  iron  boat-hook 
sank  under  the  water  on  its  errand  of  mercy. 


DKOWNED.  193 

Meanwhile  we  laslied  hooks  to  other  poles;  and 
along  the  beach,  and  on  the  dock,  a  number  of  men 
were  busy  with  them  searching  for  the  body.  At  last 
there  was  a  subdued  shout — it  came  from  the  river, 
a  little  south  of  the  boat-house — and  the  men 
dropped  the  poles  on  the  dock,  and  on  the  beach, 
and  ran  down  that  way,  and  we  saw  a  little  white 
object  glisten  in  the  arms  of  the  boatmen,  and 
then  it  was  laid  tenderly,  face  downward,  on  the 
grass  that  grew  on  the  parapet  of  the  railway. 
Poor  little  fellow  !  He  had  been  bathing  on  the 
beach,  and  had  ventured  out  beyond  his  depth  in 
the  river.  It  was  too  late  to  recall  that  little  spirit 
— the  slender  breath  had  bubbled  up  through  the 
water  half  an  hour  before.  The  poor  women 
wrapped  up  the  tiny  white  death  in  a  warm  shawl ; 
and  one  stout  fellow  took  it  in  his  arms,  and  carried 
it  softly  along  the  iron  road,  followed  by  the  con 
course  of  people. 

"When  I  came  up  on  the  bank  again,  I  thanked 
God,  for  the  group  of  small,  sad  faces  I  found 
there — partly  for  their  safety — partly  for  their 
sympathy.  And  we  observed  that  afternoon,  how 
quiet  and  orderly  the  young  ones  were ;  although 
the  sun  went  down  in  splendid  clouds,  and  the 

9 


194:  SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

river  was  flushed  with  crimson,  and  the  birds 
sang  as  they  were  wont  to  sing,  and  the  dogs 
sported  across  the  grass,  and  all  nature  seemed  to 
be  unconsciously  gay  over  the  melancholy  casualty  ; 
vet  our  little  ones  were  true  to  themselves,  and  to 

»/  9 

humanity.  They  had  turned  over  an  important 
page  in  life,  and  were  profiting  by  the  lesson.  - 


WINTER.  195 


CHAPTEK    XIV. 

Winter  once  more — Mr.  Sparrowgrass  feels  as  if  he  would  like  to  Chirp  a  little — 
Thomas  Fuller,  D.D.— The  Good  Wife— Old  Dockweed  again— A  Barrel  of 
Cider — News  of  the  Saddle  and  Bridle — Superior  Tactics  of  the  Village  Teams 
ter — Christmas — Great  Preparations — Christmas  Carols  and  Masques — A  Sug 
gestion  of  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass. 

"  THE  first  flurry  of  snow,"  said  I,  making  a 
show  of  shaking  off  a  few  starry  flakes  from  my 
hat,  "  the  first  sky-signals  of  winter."  It  is  a  good 
thing  to  have  winter  in  the  country.  There  is 
something  cheery  in  the  prospect  of  roaring  fires  ; 
and  Christinas  trees,  glittering  with  tapers — and 
golden  eggs — and  sugar-hearts — and  wheels — and 
harps  of  sparry  sweets ;  and  pipes  and  tabors ;  and 
mince  pies  ;  and  ringing  sleigh-bells ;  and  robes  of 
fur,  and  reeking  horses ;  and  ponds  with  glassy 
floors,  alive  with,  and  rattling  under  the  mercurial 
heels  of  skaters.  We  love  to  watch  the  snow  shak 
ing  down  from  the  clouds ;  and  to  rise  up  some  bright 
morning,  when  its  fine  woof  is  folded  over  the 


190         SPARROWGBASS   PAPERS. 

backs  of  mountains,  and  in  the  laps  of  valleys,  like 
a  web  ;  and  to  pass  through  the  colonnaded  woods, 
where  the  gaunt  old  trees  are  feathered  to  the 
uttermost  twigs  ;  and  to  drink  from  the  cold  spring- 
water,  that  trickles  over  a  beard  of  icicles,  and 
pours,  with  a  summer  sound,  in  the  rusty  tin-cup, 
that  belongs  to  the  old  saw-mill  in  the  glen.  It  is 
pleasant  to  think  how  soon  the  birds  will  be  about 
us  once  more,  not  birds  of  summer,  but  snow 
birds  ;  and  with  what  glee  those  wily  freebooters — 
crows,  will  croak  forth  their  gratulations  that  the 
winter  has  come,  and  with  it  the  privilege  of  pick 
ing  up  an  honest  livelihood,  in  spite  of  Lazarus  in 
the  frozen  corn-field,  with  his  hat  like  a  pod  of 
cotton.  All  the  poets  love  winter,  why  should  not 
everybody  ? 

"  Winter's  the  lime  to  which  the  poet  looks 
For  hiving  his  sweet  thoughts,  and  making  honey-books." 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  would  like  to  chirp  a  little  this 
evening,  Mrs.  SparrowG.  "What  shall  we  have  ? 
Lamb  ?  Let  me  read  you  '  Dream  Children,'  or, 
perhaps,  Fuller  would  be  newer — old  Fuller ! 
Here  he  is ;  the  ancient  and  venerable  D.  D. 
Now,  my  dear, '  The  Good  Wife.'  Mrs.  Sparrow- 


READINGS  FROM  FULLER.   197 

grass  bridled   up,   and  was   all   smiles.     Then  I 
read  : 

"  St.  Paul  to  the  Colossians  (iii.  18),  first  adviseth 
women  to  submit  themselves  to  their  husbands, 
and  then  counselleth  men  to  love  their  wives. 
And  sure  it  was  fitting  that  women  should  have 
their  lesson  given  them,  because  it  was  hardest  to 
be  learned,  and,  therefore,  they  need  have  the 
more  time  to  con  it." 

"  li'm !"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  "  St.  Paul ! 
He  was  a  wise  man  (ironically).  Read  on." 

a  She  keeps  house  if  she  have  not  her  husband's 
company  (that  you  always  have),  or  leave,  for  her 
patent,  to  go  abroad." 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  wished  to  know  what  "pa 
tent  "  meant,  in  that  sense.  "  My  dear,"  said  I, 
"  'patent'  is  a  writ  or  privilege,  given  or  granted." 
Then  I  continued : 

"  For  the  house  is  the  woman's  centre.  It  is 
written :  '  The  sun  ariseth  ;  man  goeth  forth  unto 
his  work  and  to  his  labor  until  the  evening' 
(Psalm  civ.  22)  ;  but  it  is  said  of  the  good  woman  : 
'  She  riseth  while  it  is  yet  night '  (Prov.  xxxi.  15). 
For  man  in  the  race  of  his  work  starts  from  the 
rising  of  the  sun,  because  his  business  is  without 


198         SPAKKOWGKADS   PAPERS. 

doors,  and  not  to  be  done  without  the  light  of 
heaven  ;  but  the  woman  hath  her  work  within  the 
house,  and,  therefore,  can  make  the  snn  rise  by 
lighting  of  a  candle." 

"Was  Dr.  Fuller  married?"  quoth  Mrs.  8. 
"  Yes,  my  dear,  probably  two  hundred  years 
ago."  "H'm!"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass.  "She 
was  a  model  wife,  my  dear,"  said  I.  "  Who  ? 
Mrs.  Fuller!"  "No,  Monica."  Then  I  read  the 
beautiful  story  from  the  book,  and  afterwards  took 
down  old,  gilt  Boccaccio,  and  repeated  the  still 
more  beautiful  story  of  Griselda — the  pearl  of  the 
Decameron.  This  latter  story  pleased  Mrs.  Spar 
rowgrass  very  much  ;  so  it  grew  to  be  exceedingly 
pleasant  in-doors,  what  with  the  wood  fire  and  the 
candles ;  while  the  cold,  the  white  snow,  and  the 
moonshiny  river,  made  it  harmonious  out  of  the 
window ;  and  I  was  just  about  saying,  I  meant  to 
read  all  Dickens'  Christmas  Stories  over,  and 
Thackeray's  Hose  and  the  Ring,  and  Bracebridge 
Hall,  and  the  Sketch  Book,  before  the  holidays  ; 
when  we  heard  something  like  wheels  cheeping 
through  the  snow  outside,  and  a  muffled  crumping, 
and  then  a  knock  at  the  front-door. 

Upon  opening  the  door,  whom  should  we  see 


OLD   DOCK  WEED    AGAIN.  199 

but  old  Dockweed,  in  a  v^ry  short  overcoat,  with 
duck-legs,  attached  to  a  shadow  of  supernatural 
proportions,  that  folded  over  the  side  steps  of  the 
porch,  and  ran  out  to,  and  up  the  trunk  of  a  tree, 
with  wonderful  sharpness  of  outline.  And  there 
was  his  swart  wagon,  with  ebony  spokes,  and  a 
very  spectre  of  a  horse :  and  high  up  in  the  wagon, 
a  ghastly  barrel,  with  icy  hoops,  and  chime  of 
silver,  and  all  under  the  moon — oh!  Then  we 
knew  the  cider  had  come  from  Binghamton ! 

It  is  a  good  thing  to  have  a  friend  in  Broome 
County. 

Then  I  told  old  Dockweed,  who  had  aroused  all 
the  small-fry  in  their  beds,  cribs,  and  cradles,  with 
his  voice,  to  take  his  horse  and  wagon  to  the  back 
of  the  house ;  and  after  some  heaving  and  tilting, 
we  got  the  barrel  down  in  the  snow,  and  rolled  it, 
with  purple  fingers,  safely  into  the  cellar.  Then 
I  put  my  hand  in  my  pocket  to  pull  out  the  custo 
mary  amount,  but  old  Dockweed  laid  his  mitten 
upon  my  elbow,  with  a  familiarity  that  might  be 
excusable  in  a  small  village,  but  which  was  by  no 
means  respectful  in  a  village  so  extensive  as  our 
village.  "  Sparrygrass,"  said  he,  "  how's  yer  hos  ?" 
I  replied  that  he  seemed  to  be  doing  well.  "  Spar- 


200          SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

rygrass,"  continued  he,  "  I  got  somethin'  to  tell  you 
now,  that'll  please  yer ;  I  got  your  saddle  and 
bridle,  and  what's  more,  I  got  the  fellow  that  stole 
yer  hos — all  right — up  at  White  Plains,  in  the 
lock-up — and  nothin'  to  do  but  just  to  go  there  and 
appear  agin  him,  and  send  him  to  Sing-Sing. 

"Don't  you  know,"  he  continued,  "some  time 
ago  I  asked  you  how  yer  hos  was  gettin'  on,  and 
you  said  '  purty  well  ?' J:  I  replied  that  I  remem 
bered  it.  "  Well,  then,  I  knowed  then  where  your 
hos  was,  but  thinks  I,  if  Sparrowgrass  is  a-goin'  to 
keep  his  head  shet  up  about  losin'  his  hos,  I  can 
keep  my  head  shet  up  about  findin'  on  him.  'Taint 
my  business,  you  know.  I  always  think  that  when 
anybody  puts  confidence  into  me,  that  I  ought  to 
put  confidence  into  them,  and  not  without."  This 
just  distribution  of  relative  duties  inspired  me 
with  such  a  feeling  of  respect  for  old  Dockweed 
and  his  principles,  that  if  any  person  had  been 
just  then  pushing  him  into  the  river  I  should  not 
have  interfered.  "  So  you  knew  that  he  was  in  the 
pound,"  said  I.  "  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  and  knowed 
about  him  bein'  stolen  afore  that.  You  see  one 
night  my  wife  says  to  me,  says  she,  '  Is  that  the 
cars  a-comin'  ?'  I  says  '  No,'  but  wasn't  sure.  You 


A    DISCOVERY.  201 

see  my  wife  she  heard  it  first,  because  she  sleeps 
on  the  side  of  the  bed  that's  nighest  to  the  window ; 
well,  we  heard  it  a  comin',  and  by  and  by  it  got  up 
close  to  our  house,  and  then  says  my  wife,  '  Did 
you  ever  hear  such  awful  whistling  ?'  Says  I,  '  ISTo, 
but  I  know  what  it  is,'  says  I;  'that  is  Sparry- 
grasses  hos.' '  "  Why  didn't  you  try  to  stop  him, 
then,"  said  I,  "if  you  knew  it  was  my  horse?" 
"  Well,"  replied  Dockweed,  "  how  did  I  know  that 
you  wasn't  a-top  of  him  ?  Well,  next  morning  it 
was  all  oYit,  and  the  hos  was  took  into  custody 
and  pounded ;  and  so  1  told  the  boys  not  to  say 
nothing  about  it  until  I  see  you,  and  then  you 
see,  when  I  see  you,  you  wouldn't  let  on,  and  I 
wouldn't  let  on."  "  And  pray,"  said  I,  "  how  did 
you  find  the  bridle  and  saddle,  and  the  thief?" 
"  Well,"  continued  the  veteran  teamster,  "  you  see 
1  had  to  carry  a  bag  of  potatoes  up  for  a  colored 
woman ;  she  lives  way  up  t'other  side  of  the 
aquaduck,  and  when  I  took  the  bag  into  the 
kitchen,  I  see  a  little  end  of  the  girt  and  a  buckle 
just  peeking  out  under  the  bed,  so  I  said  nothin', 
but  thinks  I,  wherever  there's  a  girt  there's  a 
saddle,  and  what  are  they  doin'  with  a  saddle 
when  they  ain't  got  no  horse  ?  says  I ;  so  I  told  my 

9* 


202          SPAEEOWGEASS    PA  TEES. 

wife,  and  she  told  me  to  tell  the  squire,  and  so  he 
sent  up  the  constable  and  took  the  man  and  the 
things,  and  now  he's  up  at  White  Plains." 

I  immediately  thanked  old  Dockweed  for  this  kind 
effort  on  his  part,  which  would  cost  me  a  week's  time 
at  least,  waiting  upon  the  court  as  witness,  to  say 
nothing  of  expenses  of  wagon-hire  to  get  there, 
and  hotel  bills  when  I  got  there ;  besides,  if  there 
ever  were  a  case  of  horse-thieving  that  merited  my 
approval,  over  which  I  had  chuckled  in  golden 
chuckles,  and  satirically  approved  and  forgiven, 
this  was  one.  "  Dockweed,"  said  I,  "  I  feel  much 
obliged  to  you  for  your  kind  attentions,  and  as  a 
public  spirited  individual — as  one  to  whom  the 
community  owes  a  debt  of  gratitude,  permit  me  to 
make  a  slight  present  in  acknowledgment  of  your 
eminent  services.  This  oration  being  in  concord 
with  the  mind  of  old  Dockwood,  he  took  off  his 
mitten,  and  held  out  his  hand.  "  I  do  not  intend," 
said  I,  "  to  offer  you  money,  but  something  more 
pleasing  to  you,  something  you  will  watch  over, 
and  guard  with  tender  care;  something  that  will 
constantly  remind  you  of  yourself  as  a  conservator 
of  public  morals."  Here  old  Dockweed  doffed 
his  rabbit-skin  cap,  and  dropped  into  the  deepest 


DOCKWEED'S    GENEROSITY.        203 

deep  of  humility.  "I  intend,"  said  I,  "to  present 
you  with  my  horse  !"  I  never  saw  so  wild  and 
withered  a  look  as  the  old  teamster's,  when  these 
awful  words  broke  upon  his  two  credulous  ears. 
"  Well,"  he  replied,  slowly  drawing  on  his  mitten, 
his  eyes  still  cast  down,  "  well,  as  to  that,  I  ain't  got 
stable  room  just  now,  and — and  it's  too  much — it's 
a  lettle  too  much,  to  give  away  yer  hos — -jist  for  that 
— but  (in  great  perplexity)  now — I'll  tell  you  what 
I'll  do — I  won't  touch  yer  hos — it's  too  much,  but 
I'll  call  it  square,  and  take  the  saddle  and  bridle  /" 
With  that  he  hooked  on  his  rabbit-skin  cap, 
collected  his  fee  for  bringing  the  cider,  and  put 
himself  in  his  wagon  without  further  delay.  I 
watched  the  old  rogue  as  he  stood  up  under  the 
moon,  and  envied  him  his  ride  home.  "Well, 
my  dear,"  said  I  to  Mrs.  S.,  after  I  had  told 
her  the  whole  story,  "  I  suppose  it  will  be  a  pleasant 
thing  to  go  to  White  Plains ;  it  will  enable  me  to  give 
you  an  account  of  it,  its  scenery,  its  people,  its 
manners  and  customs,  its  population,  its  geology, 
and  above  all,  its  court-house.  I  hope  the  snow 
will  hold,  so  that  at  least  there  will  be  good  sleighing. 
"  After  all  Christmas  is  coming — a  fig  for  subpce- 
nas  !  Merry  Christmas,  and  in  the  country!  I  wish 


204         SPARROW GRASS   PAPERS. 

some  of  the  rare  old  sports  remained  of  picturesque 
ages.  We  certainly  must  do  something ;  a  boar's 
head  for  instance,  and  a  lemon;  snap-dragon,  and 
some  chirping  old  songs — 

'  Now  does  jolly  Janus  greet  your  merriment ; 
For  since  the  world's  creation, 
I  never  changed  my  fashion  ; 
'Tis  good  enough  to  fence  the  cold : 
My  hatchet  serves  to  cut  my  firing  yearly, 
My  bowl  preserves  the  juice  of  grape  and  barley  : 
Fire,  wine,  and  strong  beer,  make  me  live  so  long  here, 
To  give  the  merry  New-Year  a  welcome  in.' 

"A  Christmas  tree  we  must  have,  and  some 
masque,  or  pantomime  for  the  children.  Let  us 
look  up  some  good  old  carols,  for  the  morning,  and 
rouse  the  small  world  with  gun-fire  and  blare  of 
bugle.  There  will  be  stockings  to  fill,  and  we  will 
get  colored  candles  to  light  the  toy-table  before 
cock-crow.  I  wish  we  could  have  a  yule  clog  for 
the  hearth,  but  the  chimney  flue  is  too  small ;  at 
all  events,  we  can  brew  a  pitcher  of  mulled  wine, 
and  stick  sprigs  of  evergreens  all  around  the  room. 
That  will  make  some  show  and  jollity.  Holly, 
bay,  and  mistletoe,  so  common  in  the  Southern 


A    CHRISTMAS    MASQUE.  205 

States,  are  not  plants  of  this  region,  but  we  can 
borrow  some  ivy  leaves  and  make  out  as  we  may. 

'  Sing  holly,  go  whistle  and  ivy  !' 

"  Come,  we  must  have  old  Misrule  with  his  yel 
low  ruff,  and  Carol  with  his  robe  and  flute,  and 
Mistress  Mince  Pie,  and  Mumming,  in  his  mask, 
and  ancient  Wassail,  with  his  brown  bowl. 

'  And  we  will  drink  from  the  barrel,  my  boys, 

A  health  to  the  barley  mow ! 

The  barrel,  half-barrel,  firkin,  half-firkin,  gallon,  half-gallon, 
quart,  pint,  half-pint,  nipperkin — 

AND  THE  BROWN  BOWL  ! 
A  health  to  the  barley  mow !' 

And   I  mean  to  read  to  the  young-ones,  Robert 
Southwell's  pretty  carol: 

'  As  I  in  hoarie  winter's  night 

Stood  shivering  in  the  snow, 
Surprized  I  was  with  sudden  heat, 

Which  made  my  heart  to  glow  ; 
And  lifting  up  a  fearefull  eye 

To  view  what  fire  was  neere, 
A  pretty  babe,  all  burning  bright, 

Did  in  the  aire  appeare.' 

"There,  now,  and  if  the  snow  holds,  wo  will 
have  a  snow  statue — say  Santa  Glaus,  with  his  arms 


206  STARROWGKASS    PAPERS. 

stuck  full  of  toys,  and  his  cold  cheeks  blown  out 
with  a  penny  trumpet. 

'  Santa  ©laus,  cjortr  fctt'It'jj  man.' 

Santa  Glaus,  good,  holy  man  ;  and  then  we  can 
make  a  martyr  of  him,  afterwards,  with  snow-balls. 
And  in  the  evening  we  will  have  the  masque  and 
the  brown  bowl-a  ;  '  the  nipperkin,  and  the  brown 

bowl !' 

'  Next  crowne  the  bowle  full 

With  gentle  lamb's-wool ; 
Add  sugar,  nutmeg,  and  ginger, 

With  store  of  ale  too, 

And  thus  ye  must  doe, 
To  make  the  wassaile  a  SWINGER  !' 

"  I  wish  we  had  suitable  music  for  the  day,  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass — harps  and  pipes ;  but  wrho  could 
play  harp  and  pipe,  if  we  had  them?  I  think, 
though,  we  can  get  a  drum. 

'  A  drum,  a  drum,  a  sheepskin  drum, 
Or  tabor  rubbed  with  a  rousing  thumb, 
Or  a  cholicky  bagpipe's  blowsy  hum, 
To  show  my  master's  fmas's  come !' 

Anything  noisy  and  cheerful  will  do.  I  suppose 
it  will  be  necessary  to  write  off  some  lines  to  speak 
in  the  masque  for  Christmas  evening ;  so,  Mrs.  S., 


A    MAGIC    LANTERN.  207 

I  want  you  to  get  the  dresses,  and  everything 
ready,  and  I  will  do  all  the  rest.  Have  you  any 
red  ribbons,  my  dear?"  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  re 
plied  she  had  not.  "  Well,  then,  we  must  get 
some ;  and  we  want  a  few  feathers,  and  spangles, 
and  a  high-peaked  hat  or  two,  and  some  ruffs 
made,  and  rosettes,  and  a  red  petticoat,  and  a 
wimple,  and  some  swords,  and  red  paint,  and 
trunk  hose,  doublets,  and  mantles,  and  white  shoes, 
and  a  velvet  cap,  and  some  hoops  and  bells,  and 
torches,  and  masks — 

'To  present, 


With  all  its  appurtenances, 
A  right  Christmas,  as  of  old  it  was, 
To  be  gathered  out  of  the  dances.'  " 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  S.,  who  was  very  busy 
making  a  little  cap,  "  it  will  please  the  children 
quite  as  well  if  you  buy  them  a  magic  lantern,  and 
put  up  a  white  sheet  to  exhibit  it  on.  It  seems  to 
me  this  Christmas  masque  will  cost  a  world  of 
labor."  "  Capital !"  said  I.  "  You  have  a  wise 
little  head  of  your  own,  Mrs.  S.,  and  when  I  buy 
the  lantern,  I  mean  to  buy  a  big  one ! 

'  Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year, 
Once  a  year, 
Once  a  year !' " 


208         SPARROWGRASS   PATERS. 


CHAPTER   XY. 

An  offer  for  the  Horse — Difficulty  of  Shipping  him  according  to  the  Terms  of  Bill 
of  Lading— Anticipations— Marine  Sketch— Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  buys  a  Patent 
Bedstead — An  essay  on  Mechanical  Forces,  and  Suggestions  in  regard  to  a 
Bronze  Legislature — The  New  Bedstead  is  tried  and  found — "  not  available." 

"  MRS.  SPARROWGRASS,"  said  I,  during  one  of 
the  remarkably  bland  evenings  we  have  had 
lately ;  "  there  is,  at  last,  an  offer  for  our  horse." 
This  good  news  being  received  with  an  incredu 
lous  look,  I  pulled  from  my  pocket  the  Louisville 
Journal,  and  read  therein  as  follows  : 

"  The  admirers  of  '  Mr.  Sparrowgrass '  will  be  pleased  to  learn, 
that  he  bargained  for  a  horse.  After  detailing  his  experiences 
with  the  animal,  Mr.  Sparrowgrass  thus  posts  him :  '  Does  any 
body  want  a  horse  at  a  low  price  ?  A  good,  stylish-looking  ani 
mal,  close-ribbed,  good  loin,  and  good  stifle,  sound  legs,  with 
only  the  heaves,  and  the  blind  staggers,  and  a  slight  defect  in  one 
of  his  eyes  ?"  We  can  put  Mr.  S.  in  the  way  of  a  trade.  "We 
know  a  physician,  who  feeds  his  horse  well,  who  pays  more  for 
horsewhips  than  for  provender.  He  would  trade  for  any  animal 
that  has  a  thin  skin  and  a  good  memory." 


ANTICIPATIONS.  209 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Sp.,  "what  of  that?  What 
can  you  do  in  relation  to  the  matter  ?  You  have  not 
seen  the  other  horse."  "  True,"  I  replied,  "  but 
that  need  not  prevent  me  SHIPPING  MINE  !  And 
you  may  depend  upon  it,  if  ever  I  get  him  on 
board  ship,  and  the  bill  of  lading  is  in  my  pocket, 
no  earthly  power  can  make  me  take  him  back 
again.  I  shall  say  to  the  captain,  '  My  dear  sir ; 
that  horse  is  not  accustomed  to  going,  but,  if  he  has 
any  go  in  him,  he  will  have  to  go  now.'  "  This  play 
upon  words,  so  entirely  original,  struck  me  as 
being  pretty  fair ;  whereupon,  I  sat  down  quite 
complacently  to  read  the  rest  of  the  paper.  "  But," 
continued  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  smoothing  her  hair 
with  both  hands,  "  suppose,  after  they  get  him  on 
board  the  vessel,  they  should  find  out  what  kind 
of  a  horse  he  was,  and  suppose,  then,  they  should 
refuse  to  take  him,  how  could  you  help  it?" 
"  Why,  my  dear,"  replied  I,  "  if  I  have  a  bill  of 
lading,  they  must  take  him.  A  bill  of  lading  is  a 
certificate  or  contract  signed  by  the  captain  and 
owners  of  the  vessel,  in  which  they  agree  to  carry 
such  and  such  goods  from  the  port  where  they 
receive  them,  to  the  port  to  which  the  vessel  is 
bound.  A  bill  of  lading  reads  something  like 


210         SPARROW GRASS    PAPERS. 

this :  '  Shipped  in  good  order,  and  well-condi 
tioned  '  " 

"  How  does  it  begin  ?"  said  Mrs.  S.,  with  the 
first  word  in  the  key  of  C  sharp. 

"  Shipped  in  good  order,  and  well-conditioned," 
I  responded,  but  my  voice  was  in  the  key  of  F 
minor.  For  here,  at  the  very  threshold  of  my 
hope,  was  a  barrier.  The  terms  of  the  bill  of 
lading  itself  would  prevent  me  shipping  him. 
How  could  I  say  he  was  "  in  good  order  and  well- 
conditioned  2" 

To  my  mind,  there  is  nothing  so  common  in  life 
as  disappointments.  Let  any  man  take  his  hap 
piest  day,  and  see  if  it  be  not  somewhat  flecked 
and  flawed  with  them.  I  think  the  most  favored 
could  count  twenty  balks  to  one  success  in  his 
past  days.  The  human  mind  is  apt  to  anticipate 
the  end  before  the  beginning  has  begun.  Tom 
Ailanthus  hears  he  has  fallen  heir  to  an  estate 
worth  one  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  before  he 
sleeps,  buys  a  house  near  Fifth  Avenue,  furnishes 
it,  gets  married,  presents  his  wife  with  a  splendid 
set  of  diamonds,  invests  forty  thousand  as  special 
partner  in  some  safe  concern,  makes  another 
fortune,  does  the  tour  of  Europe,  gets  back,  mar- 


THE    HORSE  —  His    EXODUS.       211 

ries  off  his  daughters,  moves  into  the  country, 
builds  a  villa,  with  lawns,  fish-ponds,  conservatories, 
hot  and  cold  graperies,  and  circulates  around  his 
domains,  the  Sir  Roger  de  Coverly  of  the  neigh 
borhood.  But  when  -the  estate  comes  to  be  settled, 
and  its  value  established,  Tom  Ailanthus,  who 
before  never  had  kept  a  dollar  long  enough  in  his 
company  to  get  thoroughly  acquainted  with  it, 
finds  himself  a  poor  man,  with  only  fifty  thousand. 
His  anticipations  have  presented  him  with  fifty 
thousand  disappointments.  So  we  go  : 

"  The  space  between  the  ideal  of  man's  soul 

And  man's  achievement,  who  hath  ever  past  ? 
An  ocean  spreads  between  us  and  that  goal, 
Where  anchor  ne'er  was  cast !" 

We  are  born  to  disappointments  as  the  sparks  fly 
upward.  See,  now,  how  my  anticipations  were 
balked.  I  had  imagined  everything  when  I  read 
that  paragraph.  Look  upon  the  picture  : 

THE   HORSE— HIS   EXODUS. 

Livery-stable  keeper  hears  he's  going  to  Kentucky-ho ! 

Whoa!  (Tableau.) 
A  crowd  of  idle  Nepperhanners  cluster  at  the  steamboat  wharf, 

To  see  him  g'  off. 


212          SPAKKOWGKASS    PAPERS. 

Steamboat  struggles  down  the  river  (panorama — Palisades) 

Country  fades — 

Town  approaches — churches,  cabmen,  steamboats,  stenches,  streets, 
and  slips, 

Lots  of  ships! 

GANG-PLANK  SCENE — Old  ladies,  baskets — land  him  !   "  g'  up  !" 
won't  budge  a  bit. 

'P'leptic  fit ! 

Orange-woman  bankrupt,  crazy !  (horse  has  smashed  her  tropic 
fruit). 

Pay  the  woman — have  to  do't. 
Reach  the  N'  Orleans  packet  (racket),  horse  is  hoisted  up  in  slings, 

Pegasus !  (no  wings.) 
Skipper  signs  the  bill  of  lading!  horse  is  lowered  down  below. 

"  Whose  horse  is't  ?"    "  Don't  know." 

Steam-tug  Ajax  'long-side  packet — lugs  her,  tugs  her  down  the 
bay; 

(S'pulchral  neigh !) 

SEA  SCENE  ! — Narrows — Staten   Island — horsep't'l — light-house — 
Sandy  Hook — 

Captain — cook. 

Morning — dawning — lighthouse  fainting — at  the  anchor  heaves 
the  crew. 

Horse  heaves  too  ! 

And  ship  goeth  over  the  ocean  blue  ! 

SCENE  II. 

GULF-SCENE — Tempest— inky  water — Norther !  (strikes  one  like  a 
blow). 

Squalls  (with  snow). 


THE    HORSE  —  His    EXODUS.       213 

Midnight — lighthouse  sinks,  a  star  now! — "Captain?"  "Yes,  we 
run  from  shore." 

"  Captain  —pshaw !" 

Trunk?  philander  round  the  cabin — state-rooms  getting  sick  and 
sicker. 

"  I  say— Ick-ah !" 

Morning — sunbeams — fair  winds — billows — sandy  beaches — stunt 
ed  trees  ; 

Hail  Balize ! 
Pilot — river — rushing  current — yellow  water — crooks  and  bends  : 

Sickness  ends. 

Dinner — sunset — N'  Orleans  City — Crescent — Levee — Lafayette. 
"Not  there  yet!"' 

SCEXK   III. 

Horse  re-shipped — high-pressure  steamboat — pipes  alternate  puff 
and  cough. 

There— he's  off  I 

"Up  the  river!" — drift-wood — moonlight — L'wesiana  glorious — 
great 

Sugar  state  I 
Level  country — white-washed  villas,  negro  cabins,  fences,  hedges, 

Skirt  the  edges. 

Baton  Rouge  is  passed,  and  then,  for  long,  long  days  and  nights, 
he  sees 

Cotton  trees ! 
Ever,  ever,  growing,  growing,  sunlight,  moonlight,  near  and  far, 

There  they  are. 

Natchez — Vicksburgh — Memphis !    Each  one  stands  upon  a  sepa 
rate  bluff, 

Bold  and  rough  I 


214:         SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

Cairo — flat-boats — fiddling  —  dancing  —  gambling — wharf-boats — 
on  we  go. 

Ohio! 

'Past  we  glide  "  (see  Robert  Browning),  up  that  river  on  we 
glide. 

(We  say—"  slide.") 

Past  Paducah — past  Shawneetown — till  (Ah  !  stop — my  trembling 
quill), 

LOUISVILLE  !  I ! 

"Now,  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  I  had  imagined  all 
of  that  panorama ;  and  here  we  are,  with  the  horse 
upon  our  hands,  just  because  bills  of  lading  begin 
in  the  way  they  do.  I  believe  I  shall  have  to  make 
him  a  present  to  some  bone-boiling  establishment." 
"  That  is  a  cruel  thought,"  said  Mrs.  S.  "  By  the 
way."  said  I,  "  what  do  you  think  of  my  poetry, 
my  dear  ?"  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  answered  she  had 
not  heard  any  poetry,  except  now  and  then  a 
rhyme,  which  seemed  to  come  in  the  prose  very 
well.  "Prose,"  said  I,  "prose?  Do  you  not 
know  the  verse  is  octameter  catalectic,  alternating 
with  lines  of  a  trochee  and  a  half,  sometimes 
irregulated  in  order  to  give  scope  to  my  fancy  ?" 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  it  did  not  strike  her  in  that 
way.  "  Then  if  it  did  not  strike  you  it  cannot  be 
poetry.  Of  course  not.  Poetry  to  be  poetry  must 


OUK    NEW    BEDSTEAD.  215 

strike.     If  it  do  not,  then  it  is  not  poetry,  but,  Mrs. 
Sp.  it  may  be  (excuse  me)  werse.n 

I  have  bought  me  a  new  patent  bedstead,  to 
facilitate  early  rising,  called  a  "  wake-up."  It  is  a 
good  thing  to  rise  early  in  the  country.  Even  in 
the  winter  time  it  is  conducive  to  health  to  get  out 
of  a  warm  bed  by  lamp-light ;  to  shiver  into  your 
drawers  and  slippers  ;  to  wash  your  face  in  a  basin 
of  ice-flakes ;  and  to  cotnb  out  your  frigid  hair 
with  an  uncompromising  comb,  before  a  frosty 
looking-glass.  The  only  difficulty  about  it  lies  in 
the  impotence  of  human  will.  You  will  deliberate 
about  it,  and  argue  the  point.  You  will  induge 
in  specious  pretences,  and  lie  still  with  only  the  tip 
end  of  your  nose  outside  the  blankets;  you  will 
pretend  to  yourself  that  you  do  intend  to  jump  out 
in  a  few  minutes ;  you  will  tamper  with  the  good 
intention,  and  yet  indulge  in  the  delicious  luxury. 
To  all  this  the  "wake-up,"  is  inflexibly  and  tri 
umphantly  antagonistic.  It  is  a  bedstead  with  a 
clock  scientifically  inserted  in  the  head-board. 
When  you  go  to  bed,  you  wind  up  the  clock,  and 
point  the  index-hand  to  that  hour  on  the  dial,  at 
which  you  wish  to  rise  in  the  morning.  Then  you 
plnce  yourself  in  the  hands  of  the  invention,  and 


216  SPAEBOWGEASS    PAPERS. 

shut  your  eyes.  You  are  now,  as  it  were,  under 
the  guardianship  of  King  Solomon  and  Doctor 
Benjamin  Franklin.  There  is  no  need  to  recall 
those  beautiful  lines  of  the  poet's — 

"  Early  to  bed,  and  early  to  rise, 
Will  make  a  man  healthy,  wealthy,  and  wise." 

Science  has  forestalled  them.  The  "  wake-up  "  is  a 
combination  of  hard  wood,  hinges,  springs,  and 
clock-work,  against  sleeping  late  o'  mornings.  It 
is  a  bedstead,  with  all  the  beautiful  vitality  of  a 
flower — it  opens  with  the  dawn.  If,  for  instance, 
you  set  the  hand  against  six  o'clock,  in  the  morn 
ing,  at  six,  the  clock  at  the  bed's  head  solemnly 
strikes  a  demi-twelve  on  its  sonorous  bell.  If  you 
pay  no  attention  to  the  monitor,  or  idly,  dreamily 
endeavor  to  compass  the  coherent  sequence  of 
sounds,  the  invention,  within  the  succeding  two 
minutes,  drops  its  tail-board,  and  lets  down  your 
feet  upon  the  floor.  "While  you  are  pleasantly 
defeating  this  attempt  upon  your  privacy,  by 
drawing  up  your  legs  within  the  precincts  of  the 
blankets,  the  virtuous  head-board,  and  the  rest  of 
the  bed,  suddenly  rise  up  in  protest ;  and  the  next 
moment,  if  you  do  not  instantly  abdicate,  you  are 


PROGRESS    OF    MACHINERY.         217 

launched  upon  the  floor  by  a  blind  elbow  that  con 
nects  with  the  crank  of  an  eccentric,  that  is  turned 
by  a  cord,  that  is  wound  around  a  drum,  that  is 
moved  by  an  endless  screw,  that  revolves  within 
the  body  of  the  machinery.  So  soon  as  you  are 
turned  out,  of  course,  you  waive  the  balance  of  the 
nap, 'and  proceed  to  dress. 

"Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,"  said  I,  contemplatively, 
after  the  grimy  machinists  had  departed,  "  this 
machine  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  evidences 
of  progress,  the  ingenuity  of  man  has  yet  devel 
oped.  In  this  bedstead  we  see  a  host  of  cardinal 
virtues  made  practical  by  science.  To  rise  early, 
one  must  possess  courage,  prudence,  self-denial, 
temperance,  and  fortitude.  The  cultivation  of 
these  virtues,  necessarily  attended  with  a  great 
deal  of  trouble,  may  now  be  dispensed  with,  as  this 
engine  can  entirely  set  aside,  and  render  useless,  a 
vast  amount  of  moral  discipline.  I  have  no  doubt, 
in  a  short  time  we  shall  see  the  finest  attributes  of 
the  human  mind  superseded  by  machinery.  £Tay, 
more,  I  have  very  little  doubt  that,  as  a  preparatory 
step  in  this  great  progress,  we  shall  have  physical 
monitors  of  cast-iron  and  wheel- work  to  regulate 
the  ordinary  routine  of  duty  in  every  family." 

10 


218         SPAKKOWGKASS   PAPERS. 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  she  did  not  precisely  under 
stand  what  I  meant.  "  For  instance,"  said  I,  in 
continuation,  "  we  dine  every  day ;  as  a  general 
thing,  I  mean,  Now  sometimes  we  eat  too  much, 
and  how  easy,  how  practicable  it  would  be  to 
regulate  our  appetites  by  a  banquet-dial.  The 
subject,  having  had  the  superficial  area  of  his 
skull,  and  the  cubic  capacity  of  his  body  worked 
out  respectively  by  a  licensed  craniologist,  and  by 
a  licensed  coporalogist,  gets  from  each  a  certificate, 
which  certificates  are  duly  registered  in  the  county 
clerk's  office.  From  the  county  clerk  he  receives 
a  permit,  marked,  we  will  say,  ten."  "Not  ten 
pounds,  I  hope,"  said  Mrs.  S.  "No,  my  dear," 
I  replied,  "  ten  would  be  the  average  of  his 
capacity.  "We  will  now  suppose  the  chair,  in 
which  the  subject  is  seated  at  dinner,  rests  upon  a 
pendulous  platform,  over  a  delicate  arrangement 
of  levers,  connected  with  an  upright  rod,  that  runs 
through  the  section  "of  table  in  front  of  his  plate, 
and  this  rod,  we  will  suppose,  is  toothed  into  a 
ratchet-wheel,  that  moves  the  index  of  the  banquet- 
dial.  You  will  see  at  once,  that,  as  he  hangs 
balanced  in  this  scale,  any  absorption  of  food 
would  be  instantly  indicated  by  the  index.  All 


A    CUKE    FOR    GOURMANDS.        219 

then,  lie  is  called  upon  to  do,  is  to  watch  the  dial, 
until  the  hand  points  to  '  ten,'  and  then*,  stop 
eating."  "But,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  "sup 
pose  he  shouldn't  be  half  through  ?"  "  Oh,"  said 
I,  "that  would  not  make  any  difference.  When 
the  dial  says  he  has  had  enough,  he  must  quit." 
"But,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  "suppose  he  would 
not  stop  eating  ?"  "  Then,"  said  I,  "  the  proper  way 
to  do  would  be  to  inform  against  him,  and  have 
him  brought  immediately  before  a  justice  of  the 
peace,  arid  if  he  did  not  at  once  swear  that  he  had 
eaten  within  his  limits,  fine  him,  and  seize  all 
the  victuals  on  his  premises."  "  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  S., 
"  you  would  have  a  law  to  regulate  it,  then  ?" 
"  Of  course,"  said  I,  "  a  statute — a  statutory  pro 
vision,  or  provisionally  act.  Then,  the  principle 
once  being  established,  you  see  how  easily  and 
beautifully  we  could  be  regulated  by  the  simplest 
motive  powers.  All-  the  obligations  we  now  owe 
to  society  and  to  ourselves,  could  be  dispensed 
with,  or  rather  transferred  to,  or  vested  in,  some 
superior  machine  to  which  we  would  be  accountable 
by  night  and  day.  Nay,  more  than  that,  instead 
of  sending  representatives  to  legislate  for  us,  how 
easy  it  would  be  to  construct  a  legislature  of  bronze 


220         SPARROWGBASS    PAPERS. 

and  wheel-work — an  incorruptible  legislature.  I 
would  suggest  a  hydraulic  or  pneumatic  congress, 
as  being  less  liable  to  explode,  and  more  easily 
graduated  than  one  propelled  by  steum  simply. 
All  that  would  be  required  of  us  then  would  be  to 
elect  a  state  engineer  annually,  and  he,  with  the 
assistance  of  a  few  underlings,  could  manage  the 
automata  as  he  pleased."  "^  do  not  see,"  replied 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  "how  that  would  be  an 
improvement  upon  the  present  method,  from  all 
I  hear."  This  unexpected  remark  of  Mrs.  S.  sur 
prised  me  into  silence  for  a  moment,  but  imme 
diately  recovering,  I  answered  that  a  hydraulic  or 
pneumatic  legislature  would  at  least  have  this 
advantage — it  would  construct  enactments  for  the 
State  at,  at  least,  one  fifthieth  part  of  the  present 
expense,  and  at  the  same  time  do  the  work  better 
and  quicker. 

"Now,  my  dear,"  said  I,  as  I  wound  up  the 
ponderous  machinery  with  a  huge  key,  "  as  you 
are  always  an  early  riser,  and  as,  of  course,  you 
will  be  up  before  seven  o'clock,  I  will  set  the  indi 
cator  at  that  hour,  so  that  you  will  not  be  dis 
turbed  by  the  progress  of  science.  It  is  getting  to 
be  very  cold,  my  dear,  but  how  beautiful  the  stars 


NIGHT    THOUGHTS.  221 

are  to-niglit.     Look  at  Orion  and  the  Pleiades! 
Intensely  lustrous,  in  the  frosty  sky." 

The  sensations  one  experiences  in  lying  down 
upon  a  complication  of  mechanical  forces,  are 
somewhat  peculiar,  if  they  are  not  entirely  novel. 
I  once  had  the  pleasure,  for  one  week,  of  sleeping 
directly  over  the  boiler  of  a  high-pressure  Missis 
sippi  steamboat ;  and,  as  I  knew,  in  case  of  a  blow 
up,  I  should  be  the  first  to  hear  of  it,  I  composed 
my  mind  as  well  as  I  could  under  the  circum 
stances.  But  this  reposing  upon  a  bed  of  statics 
and  dynamics,  with  the  constant  chirping  and 
crawling  of  wheel-work  at  the  bed's  head,  with  a 
thought  now  and  then  of  the  inexorable  iron 
elbow  below,  and  an  uncertainty  as  to  whether  the 
clock  itself  might  not  be  too  fast,  or  to  slow, 
caused  me  to  be  rather  reflective  and  watchful, 
than  composed  and  drowsy.  Nevertheless,  I  en 
joyed  the  lucent  stars  in  their  blue  depths,  and 
the  midnight  moon  now  tipping  the  Palisades  with 
a  fringe  of  silver  fire,  and  was  thinking  how  many 
centuries  that  lovely  light  had  played  upon  those 
rugged  ridges  of  trap  and  basalt,  and  so  finally 
sinking  from  the  reflective  to  the  imaginative,  and 
from  the  imaginative  to  the  indistinct,  at  last 


222         SPARKOWGKASS    PAPERS. 

reached  that  happy  state  of  half- consciousness, 
between  half-asleep  and  asleep,  when  the  clock  in 
the  machine  woke  up,  and  suddenly  struck  eight ! 
Of  course,  I  knew  it  was  later,  but  I  could  not 
imagine  why  it  should  strike  at  all,  as  I  presumed 
the  only  time  of  striking  was  in  the  morning,  by 
way  of  signal.  As  Mrs.  S.  was  sound  asleep,  I 
concluded  not  to  say  anything  to  her  about  it ;  but 
I  could  not  help  thinking  what  an  annoyance  it 
would  be  if  tlie  clock  should  keep  on  striking  the 
hours  during  the  night.  In  a  little  while  the  bed 
clothes  seemed  to  droop  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  to 
which  I  did  not  pay  much  attention,  as  I  was  just 
then  engaged  listening  to  the  drum  below,  that 
seemed  to  be  steadily  engaged  in  winding  up  its  rope, 
and  preparing  for  action.  Then  I  felt  the  upper 
part  of  the  patent  bedstead  rising  up,  and  then  I 
concluded  to  jump  out,  just  as  the  iron  elbow  began 
to  utter  a  cry  like  unto  the  cry  of  a  steel  katy-did, 
and  did  jump,  but  was  accidentally  preceded  by 
the  mattress,  one  bolster,  two  pillows,  ditto  blank 
ets,  a  brace  of  threadbare  linen  sheets,  one  cover 
lid,  the  baby,  one  cradle  (over-turned),  and  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass.  To  gather  up  these  heterogeneous 
materials  of  comfort  required  some  little  time,  and, 


BROKEN    REST.  223 

in  the  meanwhile,  the  bedstead  subsided.  When 
we  retired  again,  and  were  once  more  safely  pro 
tected  from  the  nipping  cold,  although  pretty  well 
cooled,  I  could  not  help  speaking  of  the  perfect 
operation  of  the  bedstead  in  high  terms  of  praise, 
although,  by  some  accident,  it  had  fulfilled  its 
object  a  little  earlier  than  had  been  desirable.  As 
I  am  very  fond  of  dilating  upon  a  pleasing  theme, 
the  conversation  was  prolonged  until  Mrs.  Sparrow- 
grass  got  sleepy,  and  the  clock  struck  nine.  Then 
we  had  to  turn  out  again.  We  had  to  turn  out 
every  hour  during  the  long  watches  of  the  night, 
for  that  wonderful  epitome  of  the  age  of  progress. 
When  the  morning  came,  we  were  sleepy  enough, 
and  the  next  evening  we  concluded  to  replace  the 
"wake-up,"  with  a  common,  old-fashioned  bed 
stead.  To  be  sure,  I  had  made  a  small  mistake 
the  first  night,  in  not  setting  the  " indicator"  as 
well  as  the  index  of  the  dial.  But  what  of  that  ? 
Who  wants  his  rest,  that  precious  boon,  subjected 
to  contingencies  ?  When  we  go  to  sleep,  and  say 
our  prayers,  let  us  wake  up  according  to  our 
natures,  and  according  to  our  virtues  ;  some  re 
quire  more  sleep,  some  less  ;  we  are  not  mere  bits 
of  mechanism  after  all ;  who  knows  what  world  we 


224          SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

may  chance  to  wake  up  in  ?  For  ray  part,  I  have 
determined  not  to  be  a  humming-top,  to  be  wound 
up,  and  to  run  down,  just  like  that  very  interesting 
toy,  one  of  the  young  Sparrowgrassii  has  just  now 
left  upon  my  table,  minus  a  string. 


DEATH    OF   OUR    HORSE.  225 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Casualties  will  occur — Ice  and  ice-houses — A  hint  from  the  Flowery  Nation — 
Baldwin's  Pond — Skaters — Our  horse  gets  into  business  and  is  launched  upon 
an  ice  island — A  Derrick — The  result  thereof. 

CASUALTIES  will  occur;  there  is  no  providing 
against  the  infinite  chapter  of  accidents.  "We  have 
met  with  a  misfortune.  Our  country  horse  is  dead. 
Much  as  we  grieved  over  him  living,  still  we 
cannot  help  brooding  over  his  untimely  fate. 
After  all,  sympathy,  pity,  tenderness,  are  inexpli 
cable  virtues ;  why  should  such  a  loss  cast  its  little 
cloud  over  our  domestic  sun,  when  greater,  more 
pitiable  events,  fail  to  affect  us?  Our  horse  is 
dead  !  "Well,  he  was  not  worth  his  fodder,  yet  we 
sorrow  for  him.  The  loss  of  fifty  thousand 
Russians  at  Kars  or  Erzeroum,  would  not,  could 
not,  touch  us  so  nearly.  This  is  a  strange  instru 
ment — the  human  heart!  An  organ  with  unac 
countable  stops — a  harp  of  a  thousand  strings, 
many  of  them,  I  fear  me,  deplorably  short. 
10* 


226         SPARKOW GRASS    PAPERS. 

In  the  winter  time,  when  the  frost  builds  its 
transparent  flooring  over  the  ponds,  it  is  customary 
to  fill  the  ice-houses  in  the  country.  It  is  a 
good  thing  to  have  an  ice-house  in  the  country. 
You  keep  your  summer  Sunday  dinner,  your  milk, 
and  your  butter,  in  great  perfection,  if  you  have 
such  a  frigid  tabernacle.  Sometimes,  on  a  sultry 
day,  it  is  pleasant  to  descend  to  its  cool  depths — 
to  feel  a  winter  atmosphere  in  the  heart  of  the  dog- 
dajTs — to  enjoy  a  sparry  arctic  in  the  midst  of  a 
flowery  tropic.  To  build  a  good  ice-house,  you 
must  have  foresight,  and  a  capable  carpenter.  In 
China  they  rear  them  above  ground ;  say  a  circle  of 
bamboo  poles  lashed  together ;  at  the  top,  thatched 
over  with  straw,  and  a  few  feet  of  earth  thrown  up 
around  the  base ;  these  keep  the  ice,  even  until  the 
next  year.  Here,  where  ornate  architecture  is  a 
necessity,  ice-houses  are  more  elaborately  struc 
tured.  What  with  a  cupola,  and  a  bracketted  roof, 
knobs,  and  balls,  and  bells,  a  very  pretty  temple 
can  be  made  of  pagoda  pattern,  but  then,  it  must 
be  conceded,  not  so  well  calculated  to  resist  a 
heavy  thaw  in  July,  as  others  of  plainer  mould. 

Our  ice-house,  however,  is  not  of  the  ornate 
kind ;  nor  is  it  of  the  conservative  species.  In 


BALDWIN'S   POND.  227 

style,  it  is  of  the  super-and-sub-terranean  order 
of  architecture,  and  really  holds  its  own  quite 
comfortably — except  in  very  hot  weather.  "We 
fill  it  usually  in  December,  and  this  season  our 
horse  was  brought  forth  in  all  his  harness,  to  draw 
the  clear  blue  blocks  from  Baldwin's  haunted  pond, 
upon  a  strong  sled  ; — we  supposed  he  could  perform 
that  duty  with  credit  to  himself.  So  we  thought, 
;'  Alas  poor  Yorick  !" 

Baldwin's  pond  is  a  vast  sheet  of  water,  in  truth 
it  is  The  NepperJian  River  dammed  up ;  and 
around  its  legended  brink  there  are  villas,  and 
gardens,  and  noble  trees,  and  wild  vines,  and  a 
couple  of  hat  factories,  and,  just  below  it,  a  water 
fall,  and,  in  the  distance,  Chicken  Island,  and 
beyond  that  a  bridge,  and  further  on  a  gate,  with  a 
broad  arch  above  it,  through  which  you  enter  the 
village.  In  the  summer  time  its  sweet  seclusion 
would  enchant  Kensett ;  in  winter  its  picturesque- 
ness  would  arrest  G-ignoux.  The  pond  in  Decem 
ber  is  a  mine  of  wealth  to  the  teamsters,  as  there 
are  scores  of  ice-houses  to  be  filled  in  the  village ; 
and  from  the  transparent  clearness  of  its  waters,  it 
makes  pure,  Hue  ice,  valuable  to  pack,  and  to 
keep,  and  to  use.  "  Alas  poor  Yorick !" 


228          SPARROW GRASS   PAPERS 

Just  above  it  is  '  The  Glen,'  which  in  autumn  is 
the  wildest  and  grandest  place  imagination  can 
conceive  of,  with  its  proud  abundance  of  foliage  in 
such  profusion  of  color,  that  nature's  opulence  itself 
seems  to  be  there  exhausted  in  tints.  As  you 
stand  upon  its  western  shore,  and  look  across  the 
pond,  you  see  opposite,  THE  HOUSE  WITH  THE  STONE 
CHIMNEY,  nestled  down  among  the  frowzy  willows, 
and  just  beyond  that  again,  is  the  road  that  skirts 
the  river,  and  if  you  follow  that  for  a  short  distance 
you  will  come  to  the  upper  pond,  over  which 
hangs  the  double  arch  of  the  aqueduct. 

The  pond  is  a  great  resort  for  skaters  in  the 
winter,  and  sometimes  of  a  moonlight  evening,  its 
white  floor  is  a  scene  of  enchantment,  with  the 
phantom-like  crowd,  whirling  and  shifting,  in  a 
maze  of  light  and  shadow.  To  and  from  this  pond 
our  poor  old  horse,  with  his  rude  sled,  had  been 
travelling  all  day,  really  earning  his  feed,  and 
establishing  a  reputation  for  himself  of  the  most 
creditable  nature,  when  it  chanced,  towards  night 
fall,  there  befell  him  an  accident. 

In  getting  out  the  blocks  of  ice,  the  men  had 
worked  down  towards  the  dam,  making  a  sort  of 
basin  of  water,  which  reached  from  the  centre  of 


OUK    HOUSE    IN    BUSINESS.        229 

the  frozen  sheet  to  the  brink  of  the  fall,  and  pro 
jecting  into  this  tiny  bay  was  a  tongue,  or  penin 
sula  of  ice,  connected  with  the  main  sheet  over  the 
upper,  or  northern  part  of  the  pond.  Upon  this 
narrow  peninsula  the  sled  was  backed,  with  the  rear 
end  close  to  the  open  water,  our  poor  horse  stand 
ing  with  his  back  towards  it  also  ;  unconscious  of 
the  fate  which  was  awaiting  him.  In  this  position 
he  had  stood  hour  after  hour,  as  block  after  block 
had  been  hauled  up  from  the  water,  until  his  load 
was  completed,  and  then  straining  at  his  cracking 
harness  until  the  half-frozen  runners  of  the  sled 
slipped  from  their  icy  grooves,  away  he  wrould  go 
with  his  crystal  freight,  to  fill  up  the  ice-house.  It 
seems,  however,  that,  by  reason  of  the  continued 
cold  weather,  the  blocks  of  ice  were  unusually 
thick,  and  heavy,  so  that  hauling  them  out  of  the 
basin  by  hand  labor,  was  very  severe  upon  the 
men,  but,  as  it  chanced,  there  came  a  good  Samar 
itan  to  the  pond,  towards  the  close  of  the  day,  who 
seeing  the  men  so  hard  at  work,  bethought  him  of 
a  remedy  which  was  in  the  village,  in  the  shape  of 
a  "  derrick."  Now  a  derrick  is  an  instrument  well 
known  upon  our  coasts,  and  in  our  larger  cities,  but 
not  so  common  in  the  country.  It  is  a  frame-work 


230         SPARROW  GRASS    PAPERS. 

of  timber  that  stands  up  upright,  sometimes  upon 
two  legs,  sometimes  upon  three  or  four,  and  at  the 
top  of  the  upright  beams  there  is  a  long  cross-piece, 
like  the  mizen  yard  of  a  ship,  and  at  the  end  of  the 
yard-arm,  a  block  and  tackle.  Of  course  it  would 
be  quite  easy  with  this  engine  to  raise  the  largest 
lumps  from  the  water,  so  some  of  the  men  went  to 
bring  it  to  the  pond  upon  a  sled,  while  others 
ceased  hauling  the  ice,  and  gave  up  working  until 
it  arrived  to  assist  them.  In  a  short  time  the  men 
returned,  and  at  once  they  were  hard  enough  at 
work,  raising  the  derrick  upright  on  the  unbroken 
sheet  of  ice,  just  over  against,  and  parallel  with,  the 
peninsula,  upon  which  our  poor  horse,  with  his 
empty  sled  was  standing,  patiently  waiting  for  his 
load.  Once  or  twice  he  was  seen  to  give  the  huge 
instrument  an  ominous  glance,  so  that  one  of  the 
men  walked  up  to  hold  his  head,  for  fear  he  would 
take  fright  and  run  away  from  it.  Pity  he  had 
not.  Up  it  rose  portentous  in  the  air,  got  almost  to 
its  place,  stood  for  a  moment  straight  up,  then 
leaned  over  the  other  side,  slipped  upon  the  ice — • 
there  was  a  cry  "  Get  out  of  the  way  !" — and  down 
rushed  the  derrick  with  a  thunderous  blow  that 
broke  off  our  poor  horse's  peninsula,  and  launched 


IMPOSSIBLE    TO    SAVE    HIM.          231 

him  and  his  sled  on  an  ice-island,  in  the  midst 
of  the  basin  of  water.  For  a  short  time  he  kept  his 
footing  upon  the  island,  but  the  end  upon  which  he 
was  standing  gradually  sank  into  the  water,  until 
he  slid  into  the  cool  element,  and  then,  instead 
of  swimming  towards  the  unbroken  ice,  where  he 
would  have  found  assistance,  he  turned  down 
stream,  and  towing  his  sled  behind  him,  reached  at 
last  the  edge  of  the  mill-dam.  There,  after  some 
struggles,  he  managed  to  get  one  fore  leg  over  the 
brink,  and  so  hung,  in  spite  of  all  persuasion, 
his  nostrils  throbbing  with  terror,  his  neck  smoking 
with  cold,  and  his  one  pitiful  eye  looking  wistfully 
toward  the  crowd  that  had  betrayed  him.  Had 
there  been  a  boat  he  might  have  been  saved,  but 
there  was  none  near,  except  a  skiff,  both  filled 
with,  and  bedded  in,  a  solid  mass  of  ice,  near  the 
shore.  The  water  was  pouring  over  the  dam,  so 
that  no  one  could  approach  him  from  below,  nor 
could  living  man  walk  upon  its  slippery  edge. 
They  tried  to  throw  a  slip-noose  over  his  neck,  but 
without  success;  they  held  a  sieve  of  oats  in  the 
most  tempting  way  towards  him,  but  he  shook  his 
head.  At  last,  when  all  efforts  to  save  him  proved 
unavailing,  an  old  sea-captain  who  had  commanded 


232          SPAEEOWGBASS    PAPEES. 

a  Nepperhan  sloop  in  the  last  war,  and  had  seen 
service,  was  touched  with  pity ;  he  sent  for  his 
gun.  The  old  fellow's  hand  shook  as  he  loaded 
it,  but  he  loaded  it  deliberately,  took  excellent  aim, 
fired,  and,  amid  a  thousand  echoes,  the  head  of  our 
poor  old  horse  was  thrown  up  in  the  air  for  a 
moment,  and  then  it  dropped  upon  the  brink  of  the 
dam.  There  it  lay,  in  the  midst  of  the  waters — 
stirring  from  side  to  side  with  the  ripples  that 
poured  over  the  edge — so  life-like  in  its  motions, 
that  some  said  "  he  must  yet  live ;"  but  it  was  not 
so,  and  the  next  morning  it  was  firmly  set  in  an  icy 
collar,  and  to  this  day  he  may  be  seen  looking  over 
the  mill-dam,  as  you  approach  Baldwin's  pond, 
from  the  south,  by  way  of  Chicken  Island,  or  as 
you  come  up  the  road,  hard  by  THE  HOUSE  WITH  THE 

STONE  CHBINEY. 

FEBRUARY,  1856. 


THE    GREAT    SJSTOW    STOKM.         233 


CHAPTER  XYII. 

The  great  Snow-storm — A  quotation  from  Samuel — Recollections  of  Town — What 
we  then  thought — A  Song — Scraps  in  a  Commonplace-book — An  old  epistle — 
And  anticipations. 

THIS  has  been  a  great  snow-storm.  Since  we 
have  lived  in  the  country  we  have  had  two  great 
snow-storms.  A  snow-storm  in  the  city,  with  its 
motley  panorama,  is  a  curious  spectacle,  but  a  snow 
storm  in  the  country  is  sublime.  The  harmony  of 
a  winter  landscape  always  inspires  me  with  a  sweet 
and  melancholy  gravity,  exceeding,  in  its  profound 
tranquillity,  any  emotion  derived  from  a  mere  tran 
sitory  flush  of  joy.  The  soul  rests  amid  the  hush 
and  calm.  Nature  itself, — restless,  industrious 
nature — at  last  reposes,  in  a  sort  of  frozen  rapture. 

One  does  not  wish  to  hear,  at  all  hours,  the  plea 
sant  jargon  of  sleigh-bells,  let  them  ring  never  so 
melodiously :  it  is  good,  sometimes,  to  shut  out  the 
noisy  carnival,  to  enjoy  the  broader  winter  of  the 
country,  with  feelings  akin  to  those  the  hardy  navi- 


SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 


gator  experiences  amid  the  strange  solitudes  of  the 
Arctic.  Look  at  the  crags  opposite,  muffled  breast 
high  in  snow,  and  the  broad  river  with  its  myriad  ice- 
islands.  Look  at  the  leagues  of  coldness,  stretching 
northward  until  the  vision  rests  upon  the  crescent 
line  of  hills  glowing  like  sunset-clouds  upon  the 
borders  of  the  Tappan-Zee.  Look  up  at  the  bright 
sun  of  winter  in  his  cerulean  dome  above,  and 
at  the  fair  country  around  us,  within  the  horizon's 
blue  ring,  and  say,  if  it  be  not  a  good  thing  to  have 
a  snow-storm  in  Westchester  County.  Thou  ancient 
Dorp  of  Tonkers !  I  love  thee  with  a  love  passing 
the  love  of  women. 

The  ambiguity  of  this  last  expression  gave  rise 
to  a  novel  train  of  ideas  in  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Spar- 
rowgrass,  upon  which  I  immediately  turned  to  the 
twenty-sixth  verse  of  the  first  chapter  of  Samuel  II., 
and  read  therefrom  the  exquisite  lines  I  had  so  hap 
pily  quoted. 

"  It  is  a  good  thing  to  live  in  the  country,"  said 
I ;  "  this  is  something  different  from  what  we  had 
surmised  in  the  little  back  parlor  in  Avenue  G, 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass.  Do  you  not  remember  how  we 
used  to  anticipate  rural  felicity  ?"  Mrs.  Sparrow- 
grass  replied,  she  remembered  it  very  well.  "  It  is 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    TOWN.         235 

not  precisely  what  we  had  pictured  to  ourselves, 
is  it? 

"  When  a  little  farm  we  keep, 
And  have  little  girls  and  boys, 
With  little  pigs  and  sheep, 
To  make  a  little  noise, 
Oh  what  happy,  happy  days  we'll  see, 
With  the  children  sitting,  sitting  on  our  knee." 

"  Not  precisely,"  echoed  Mrs.  S.,  "  but  still  I  like 
it  as  it  is.  To  think  of  going  back  to  the  city  now, 
is  to  think  of  moving  into  a  prison.  Yet  there  was 
something  cheerful  in  the  little  house  in  town,  too. 
There  was  a  gas-lamp  in  front  of  the  door,  that 
even  in  stormy  weather  threw  out  its  friendly  ray, 
and  I  used  to  think  it  good  company  to  have  it 
always  burning  before  the  window,  and  shining  up 
through  the  blinds.  Then  your  library  was  quite  a 
jewel  in  its  way,  with  the  brilliant  jet  of  light 
over  the  table — and  the  rows  of  gilt  books — 
and  the  pictures  on  the  walls — and  the  brackets, 
niches,  and  busts,  and  statuettes,  and  pieces  of 
armor,  and  bows,  and  spears,  and  stag-horns,  all 
looking  so  bright  and  pleasant.  I  do  not  think  this 
one  lights  up  so  well  as  that  did."  "Not  with  two 
candles  and  a  wood  fire  ?"  said  I.  "  No,"  replied 


236         SPARROW GRASS    PAPERS. 

Mi's.  S.,  "it  is  not  so  bright  as  that  little  town 
library."  "Then,"  said  I,  "permit  me  to  substitute, 
my  dear,  the  word  'cosy,'  as  suggestive  of  the 
impression  one  has  in  entering  this  bookery."  "  That 
will  do  very  well,"  replied  Mrs.  S.,  "I  am  not  mak 
ing  comparisons,  but  you  must  remember  we  were 
very  happy  in  that  little  house  in  town.  We  had 
a  great  many  friends  there."  "  So  we  had."  "  A 
great  many  friends,  and  a  great  many  pleasant  days, 
and  pleasant  evenings,  especially  in  winter,  when  we 
had  little  pop  visits  from  our  neighbors."  "Yes,  Mrs. 
S.,"  remarked  I,  "but  if  I  remember  truly,  there 
was  one  winter  which  of  all  others  seems  to  me  the 
brightest  and  the  cheerfullest."  "  Which  one  was 
that  ?"  said  Mrs.  S.  "  The  last  one  we  passed  in 
town,"  I  replied,  writh  great  impressiveness  of  man 
ner,  "  the  winter  of  anticipations — when  we  were 
laying  out  our  plans  for  living  in  the  country." 

To  this  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  answered  by  smooth 
ing  her  hair  with  her  thimble,  and  putting  on  an 
expression  of  wonderful  contentment.  "  I  wish," 
said  she,  after  a  pause,  "  I  could  remember  all  we 
talked  about  in  those  days,  and  all  \VQ  had  pictured 
to  ourselves  about  it.  I  know  that  when  anybody 
came  in  it  was  the  constant  topic  of  conversation, 


MY    COUNTRY    SONG.  237 

and  I  know  when  we  were  alone,  how  much  you 
were  engaged  with  your  plans  for  the  new  house. 
And  then,  too,  whenever  you  wrote  a  letter,  there 
was  always  something  to  say  about  leaving  town, 
and  whenever  you  received  a  letter,  there  was 
always  a  great  deal  of  congratulation,  and  a  great 
deal  of  advice,  and  a  great  many  inquiries  as  to 
whether  there  was  any  fever  and  ague  in  the  dis 
trict.  Then,  too,  you  had  a  little  song  which  you 
sang  once  or  twice  to  the  children,  which  I  have 
never  heard  you  sing  since,  and  which  I  have  for 
gotten,  and  which  I  would  not  have  remembered 
but  for  your  speaking  of  our  little  house  in  town, 
where  we  were  certainly  very,  very  happy." 
"What,"  said  I,  "forgotten  my  song,  Mrs.  Sparrow- 
grass  ?  Forgotten  my  song  ?  Then  I  mean  to  sing 
it  if  I  have  any  voice  left."  So  after  a  few  preli 
minary  attempts  I  commenced  it.  But,  alas !  my 
memory  gave  out  with  the  first  two  lines,  so  I  had 
to  take  down  my  old  commonplace  book  where  I 
found  these  reminiscent  lines. 


238          SPAKKOWGKASS    PAPERS. 

OH,  A  COUNTRY  HOME  FOR  ME! 

Air — JKASKTTE  AND  JEANNOT. 

Oh,  a  country  borne  for  me!  where  the  clover  blossoms  blow  ; 
And  the  robin  builds  his  nest  in  the  old  cherry  bough  ; 
Where  the  roses,  and  the  honey-buds  are  clinging  to  the  wall, 
Each  a  perfumed  cup  of  jewels  when  the  rain-drops  fall. 

Where  the  leaves  and  lights  are  blending, 

And  the  swallows  soar  and  sing, 

And  the  iron  chain  and  bucket  drips 

Above  the  silver  spring  : 

Oh,  a  country  home  for  me!  etc. 

When  the  sun  is  in  the  west,  and  the  winds  are  lulled  to  rest, 
And  the  tabe  sleeps  on  its  mother's  arm,  the  robin  in  her  nest ; 
When  the  cottage  taper  twinkles  through  the  lattice,  and  the 

gloom 
Of  the  dusky  trellis  roses,  and  the  woodbine's  bloom  : 

When  the  moon  is  on  the  wave, 

And  the  shadows  in  the  grove, 

How  sweet  to  wander  side  by  side 

With  those  we  dearly  love  : 

Oh,  a  country  home  for  me !  etc. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  found  it,"  said  Mrs. 
S.  "It  quite  reminds  me  of  old  times.  But  it 
seems  to  me  in  a  few  places  the  lines  might  be 
improved  ;  for  instance, 

"  Where  the  swallows  soar  and  sing." 

"True,"   said   I,  interrupting  further  criticism, 


TOWN    IDEAS    OF    COUNTRY.         239 

"  that  line  could  never  have  been  written  in  the 
country ;  swallows  soar  not,  neither  do  they  sing, 
but  still  we  will  let  the  lines  remain,  as  they  shadow 
forth  the  idea  of  what  we  thought  of  the  country, 
when  we  lived  in  town.  Here,"  I  continued,  turning 
over  some  yellow  paper,  and  tumbling  out  a  wilder 
ness  of  scraps  that  were  lying  perdue  between  the 
pages,"  here  are  a  few  more  scraps  of  anticipation, 
odds  and  ends  of  hope,  minutes  of  dead-reckoning. 
Look  now  at  that  list  of  climbing  plants !  It  was  cer 
tainly  my  intention  to  get  each  and  every  one,  and 
if  I  had,  what  a  gorgeous  show  the  cottage  would 
have  made  by  this  time :  the  bower  of  roses,  "  by 
Bendemeer's  stream,"  would  have  been  nothing  to 
it.  Then  look  here;  another  list!  Rural  ornaments 
for  gardens,  rustic  vases,  hanging  flower-pots,  urns, 
sun-dials,  kiosks,  arbors,  terrace-work,  rock-work, 
and  as  I  live  a  fountain !  Think  of  it ;  a  fountain, 
with  a  pool  of  goldfish  below  to  catch  the  shredded 
silver — 

"  And  in  the  midst,  fresh  whittling  through  the  scene, 
A  lightsome  fountain  starts  from  out  the  green, 
Clear  and  compact,  till,  at  its  height  o?er-fun, 
It  shakes  its  loosening  silver  in  the  sun." 

"How  beautiful  that  would  have  been,  viewed 


240         SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

through  a  vista  of  stately  trees,  with  a  grand 
arched  gate  at  the  end,  and  a  pair  of  stone  lions 
after  Canova — one  on  either  side."  "All  fancy," 
said  Mrs.  S.  "All  fancy,"  I  echoed,  "and  not  all 
fancy."  Here  are  more  scraps  of  the  same  kind. 
Memoranda,  Downing's  Rural  Architecture,  Land 
scape  Gardening — a  few  hints  from  Lord  Bacon. 
Mem.  "  have  a  l>ed  of  Shakspeare  flowers '," 

— Daisies  pied,  and  violets  blue, 
And  lady-smocks  all  silver-white, 
And  cuckoo  buds  of  yellow  hue. 

Those  I  mean  to  have,  and  rosemary  for  remem 
brance  !  and  '  pansies  for  thoughts,'  and  colum 
bines."  " That  would  be  charming."  "Charming? 
so  it  would.  And  now  look  at  this  practical  bundle 
of  hints  cut  from  newspapers — the  careful  glean 
ings  from  the  harvests  of  the  Evening  Post — the 
articles  marked,  "  Agricultural,"  in  that  excellent 
paper.  "  There  Mrs.  S.,  I  have  read  everything  in 
that  bundle  religiously,  and  if  I  had  an  estate,  twice 
the  size  of  this  county,  it  would  be  scarcely  large 
enough  to  cultivate  turnips  in,  according  to  the 
various  methods  proposed  by  those  agricultural 
articles,  and  as  for  the  potato,  I  will  venture  to  say 


DKAFT    OF    A    LETTER.  241 

the  Greeks  and  Trojans  around  the  dead  body 
of  Protoclus,  could  scarcely  vie  in  zeal  with  the 
champions  of  the  Evening  Post  that  contest  the 
palm  around  that  famous  root.  True  ?  It  is  true  ; 
in  our  more  modern  days,  such  a  contest  here  might, 
perhaps,  be  limited  to  the  un-warlike  columns  that 
muster  under  the  editorial  Generalissimo,  but,  nev 
ertheless,  it  is  likewise  true  that  there  is  enough 
partisan  spirit  displayed  in  those  antagonistic 
paragraphs,  marked  '  potato,'  to  breed  a  rebellion 
in  Ireland,  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  in  twenty-four 
hours." 

"  Whew  !  look  here,  another  relic  of  the  past. 
A  draft  of  a  letter  to  a  friend  h'm — h'm — 

"For  my  part,  1  begin  to  weary  of  artificial  life, 
and  sigh  for  the  Great  Mother  (this  is  from  the 
city  you  know,  to  a  friend  in  the  country).  I  see 
the  waving  of  trees,  but  they  are  rooted  in  a 
church-yard  (St  Mark's)  or  grow  up  between  flag 
stones  :  I  hear  the  melody  of  birds,  but  they  are 
pewter  canaries  at  sixpence  apiece.  I  am  tired 
of  water  '  running  up  and  down  and  through 
my  lady's  chamber,'  I  want  to  see  it  rise  like  a 
naiad  dripping  from  a  well.  I  am  weary  of  stone 
steps,  and  have  a  sort  of  green  sickness  for  rustic 
11 


S  i>  A  K  it  o  w  G  it  A  s  s    PAPERS. 


porches  clambered  over  with  vines ;  I  sigh  for 
flowers  other  than  artificial ;  and  do  much  desire  to 
look  upon  the  rain,  not  as  an  inconvenience,  but  as 
a  blessing  to  the  crops, 

THEREFORE 

I'd  kind  o'like  to  have  a  cot 
Fixed  on  some  sunny  slope  ;  a  spot 

Five  acres  more  or  less  ; 
With  maples,  cedars,  chesnut  trees, 
And  poplars  whitening  in  the  breeze. 

'T would  suit  my  taste,  I  guess, 

To  have  the  porch  with  vines  o'erclung, 

With  pendant  bells  of  woodbine  swung, 

In  every  bell  a  bee  ; 
And  round  my  latticed  window  spread 
A  clump  of  roses,  white  and  red. 

To  solace  mine  and  me, 
I  kind  o'think  I  should  desire 
To  hear  about  the  lawn  a  choir 

Of  wood-birds  singing  sweet ; 
And  in  a  dell,  I'd  have  a  brook 
Where  I  might  sit  and  read  my  book. 

Such  should  be  my  retreat ; 
Far  from  the  city's  crowds  and  noise 
Where  I  could  rear  my  girls  and  boys, — 

I  have  some  two  or  three, 


AN    OLD    EPISTLE.  243 

And  if  kind  Heaven  should  bless  my  store 
With  five,  or  six,  or  seven  more, 
How  happy  I  would  be. 

"  There,  Mrs.  S.,  take  those  papers  and  put 
them  away  with  the  old  love-letters,  and  the  rest 
of  the  bye-gones.  Some  day  you  will  take  them 
out  again ;  perhaps,  to  read  to  another  generation — 
?  Quien  sabe  ?'' 


244         SPAKROWGRASS    PAPERS. 


CHAPTER  XYIIL 

A  Conference  in  the  Library — Mr.  Sparrowgrass  writes  an  Essay— Life  in  Town 
and  Life  in  the  Rural  Districts — Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  continues  the  theme — Two 
Pictures  from  Nature — and  the  Last  Word. 

"  HERE  we  are,  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  just  on  the* 
eve  of  retiring  to  private  life.  "We  must  shake 
hands  with  our  friends,  and  say  '  good-bye.'  This 
is  to  be  the  last  paper — '  to-morrow  to  fresh  fields 
and  pastures  new.' ':  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  smiled  a 
little  smile,  and  sighed  a  little  sigh  ;  then  it  became 
very  still,  but  the  clock  ticked  loudly  on  the 
library  mantel,  and  the  wood-fire  chirped,  and  the 
sound  of  thread  and  needle  tugging  through  a  stiff 
piece  of  linen,  were  quite  .audible.  "I  think," 
said  Mrs.  S.,  after  a  long  pause,  "  I  think  there  is  a 
great  deal  to  be  said  about  living  in  the  country ; 
a  great  deal  yet  to  be  said." 

"True,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  believe,  Mrs.  S.,  I  have 
said  my  say  about  it.  I  begin  to  feel  that  the 
first  impressions,  the  novelty,  the  freshness,  inci- 


A    COMPLIMENT    FROM    MKS.    S.     2^5 

dent  to  the  change  from  city  to  country  are  wear 
ing  away." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?''  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  I  think  so ;  in  truth  I  am 
very  sure  of  it.  Do  you  not  see  it  with  very 
different  eyes  from  those  you  first  brought  with 
you  out  of  the  city  ?" 

Mis.  Sparrowgrass  said,  "  She  did  not  know  but 
that  she  did." 

"  Of  course  you  do,"  I  continued,  "  the  novelty 
of  the  change  is  gone ;  we  have  become  used  to 
our  new  life — custom  has  made  every  part  of  it 
familiar." 

"  Not  to  me,"  answered  Mrs.  S.,  brightening  up ; 
"  not  to  me  ;  every  day  I  see  something  new,  every 
day  the  country  seems  to  grow  more  beautiful; 
there  are  a  thousand  things  to  attract  me,  and  inte 
rest  me  here,  which  I  never  could  have  seen  in  the 
city ;  even  the  winters  seem  to  be  brighter,  and  the 
days  longer,  and  the  evenings  pleasanter;  and  then  I 
have  so  much  to  be  thankful  for,  that  the  children 
are  so  strong  and  hardy ;  that  we  keep  such  good 
hours  ;  and  that  you  have  grown  to  be  so  domestic." 

This  compliment  made  me  smile  in  turn,  but  I 
pretended  to  be  very  busy  with  my  writing.  The 


24.6          SPARKOWGKASS    PAPERS. 

smile,  however,  must  have  been  seen,  I  think, 
for  Mrs.  S.  repeated,  very  softly,  "  You  have  grown 
to  be  more  domestic,  and  that  alone  is  enough  to 
make  me  happy  here." 

"  So,  my  dear,"  said  I,  after  a  pause,  "  you 
believe  that,  among  other  things,  a  domestic  turn 
of  mind  can  be  better  cultivated  in  the  country 
than  in  the  city  ?" 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  assented  by  nodding  like  a 
crockery  Chinese  lady. 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  the  fact  is  worth  publishing, 
and  it  shall  be,  for  the  benefit  of  all  concerned. 
And  now  let  me  read  to  you  a  short  essay  I  have 
been  writing  on  country  life,  seen  in  a  twofold 
aspect — that  is,  as  we  had  imagined  it,  and  as  we 
have  found  it." 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  placed  the  candles  nearer  the 
desk  and  resumed  her  needlework.  Now  then — 

"  To  one  who  has  been  long  in  city  pent, 

"Tis  very  sweet  to  look  into  the  fair 

And  open  face  of  heaven,  to  breathe  a  prayer 
Full  in  the  smile  of  the  blue  firmament. 
Who  is  the  more  happy,  when,  with  heart's  content, 

Fatigued  he  sinks  into  some  pleasant  lair 

Of  wavy  grass,  and  reads  a  debonair 
And  gentle  tale  of  love  and  languishment." 


A    SHORT    ESSAY.  247 

There  are  very  few  persons  insensible  to  the 
tender  influence  of  nature  ;  few  who  do  not  feel  at 
times  a  yearning  to  exchange  a  limited  life,  held  in 
common  with  the  vast  multitude,  for  one  of  more 
generous  boundaries,  where  the  soul  can  repose 
amid  contemplation,  and  the  mind  rest  from  its 
labors,  and  even  the  languid  pulse  thrill  with  an 
inspiration  that  is  independent  of  excitement.  It 
is  this  feeling  that  lends  a  crowning  grace  to 
works  of  fiction,  that  adds  enchantment  to  narra 
tive,  that  makes  every  virtue  conceivable,  that 
echoes  into  music,  and  blossoms  into  song.  It  is 
this  feeling  that  leads  us  to  prefer  Sir  Roger  de 
Coverly  to  Sir  Andrew  Freeport ;  it  is  this  that 
transports  us  with  delight  as  we  wander  with 
Robinson  Crusoe ;  this  that  weaves  a  spell  of  fas 
cination  around  the  loves  of  Paul  and  Virginia. 

But  we  may  leave  the  kingdom  of  books  and 
pass  from  their  royal  domains  into  the  broader  com 
mons  of  every-day  life,  and  if  yonder  laborer, 
trudging  along  the  dusty  high  road,  far  from  the 
pitiless  pavements,  could  give  expression  to  his 
thought,  he  would  affirm  that  this  early,  summer, 
Sunday  morning  is,  to  him,  an  idyl  full  of  poetic 
beauty  and  tenderness. 


248         SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

Take,  too,  the  city  school-bo}7-  and  his  mates,  and 
see  them  with  uncontrollable  instincts  pouring  forth 
from  the  avenues  of  the  town  to  revel  in  the  ragged 
grass  of  the  suburbs,  to  sit,  haply,  beneath  the 
shadow  of  a  tree,  or  to  bathe  in  waters  that 
dimple  over  beaches  of  sand,  instead  of  beating 
against  piers  of  weedy  timber.  Take  the  school 
boy,  and  if  he  tell  you  truly,  he  will  confess  that, 
even  amid  the  discipline  of  the  school,  his  mind 
was  truant  to  his  hard  arithmetic,  and  his  dry 
grammar;  that  while  he  was  seemingly  plodding 
through  his  lessons,  he  was  really  dreaming  of 
green  fields,  and  sunny  air,  tremulous  with  the  mur 
mur  of  brooks,  and  fragrant  with  the  odor  of  lilacs. 

Nor  is  this  feeling  limited  to  certain  classes  of 
men,  nor  is  it  incident  only  to  our  earlier  years. 
It  is  the  prospect  of  some  ideal  home  in  the  coun 
try,  that  often  binds  the  merchant  to  the  town,  in 
order  that  he  may  win  a  competency  to  retire 
with;  binds  him  to  his  desk  until  his  head  begins 
to  silver  over,  and  habit  has  made  the  pursuit  of 
wealth  a  necessity.  It  is  this  ideal  future  that 
often  haunts  the  statesman  with  pictures  scarcely 
less  seductive  than  ambition  itself,  with  prospec 
tive  hopes,  which  he  promises  himself  some  day 


A    SHOET    ESSAY.  249 

shall  be  realized — some  day,  when  his  labors  are 
over,  and  the  nation  is  safe.  It  is  this  that  passes 
like  a  vision  before  the  eyes  of  the  soldier  in  the 
solitary  fortress;  this  that  lulls  and  cradles  the 
mariner  to  sleep,  in  his  oaken  prison ;  this  that  leads 
the  angler  into  the  depths  of  the  solemn  woods; 
this  that  depopulates  cities  in  the  sweet  summer 
time. 

Most  natural  then  as  this  wish  may  be,  to  those 
accustomed  to  the  life  of  a  city,  there  are  certain 
seasons  only  when  the  desire  throbs  in  the  veins 
with  an  impulse  not  to  be  resisted — as  during  the 
feverish  dog-days,  or  in  the  dewy  mornings  of  early 
spring — 

"  The  Spring  is  here,  the  delicate-footed  May, 

With  its  slight  fingers  full  of  buds  and  flowers, 
And  with  it  comes  a  wish  to  be  away, 
Wasting  in  wood-paths  the  voluptuous  hours." 

At  such  times  the  heart,  instinctively  led  by  its 
own  happiness,  revels  in,  anticipation  of,  winding 
woodpaths,  and  green  glades  and  quiet  nooks,  and 
streams,  and  the  twitter  of  birds,  and  the  volup 
tuous  breathing  of  flowers,  and  the  murmur  of 
insects  in  the  holiday  fields. 
11* 


250         SPARROWGBASS    PAPERS. 

But  when  the  winter  comes,  the  bright  city, 
with  its  social  populace,  presents  a  striking  con 
trast  to  the  dreary,  solitary  country,  with  its  lonely 
roads,  dark  plains,  and  desolate  woods,  so  that  the 
very  thought  itself  is  suggestive  only  of  gloom  and 
discomfort. 

There  are  other  considerations,  too,  sympathies 
that  may  not  be  readily,  nor  rudely  divorced — 
actualities  by  which  we  are  strongly,  though 
almost  imperceptibly,  bound  to  a  city  life,  such  as 
customary  habits,  familiar  acquaintances,  and  com 
munion  with  old,  time-honored  friends.  These,  in 
themselves,  are  often  potent  enough  to  prevent  us. 
Separation  is  the  saddest  word  in  the  book  of 
humanity. 

Then  again  come  other  actualities — little  actuali 
ties  of  two,  and  four,  and  six  years  old,  with  pre 
ternatural  eyes,  and  feverish  lips,  and  wasted  arras, 
mutely  imploring  us  to  follow  the  doctor's  advice, 
and  give  them  a  change  of  air — not  for  a  few 
weeks,  but  for  a  few  years,  and  these  have  their 
influence.  For  I  pity  the  parent  who  does  not  feel 
the  welfare  of  his  little  ones  nearest  his  heart. 
So  that  at  last,  after  gravely  weighing  all  argu 
ments  on  either  side,  the  great  word  is  spoken — 


A    SHOKT    ESSAY.  251 

"  We  will  move  into  the  country."  Once  settled 
as  a  fixed  fact,  once  established  as  a  thing  no 
longer  debatable,  the  idea  of  living  in  the  country 
speedily  invests  itself  with  its  old  and  happiest  colors, 
puts  on  cap  and  kirtle,  and  cottages  the  future  in 
an  Eden  of  lattice-work,  and  lawn.  Thenceforth 
every  grass-plat  in  the  city  becomes  an  object  of 
interest,  every  tree  a  study,  every  market  vegeta 
ble  a  vital  topic.  Anticipation  can  scarcely  wait 
upon  fluent  time  ;  weeks  and  months  seem  narrow 
and  long,  as  the  streets  we  traverse.  At  last  the 
period  of  thraldom  over,  for  such  it  seems,  the 
May  day  of  moving  comes,  and  then,  with  all  the 
silver  in  a  basket,  and  all  the  children  in  a  glow, 
and  all  the  canary  birds  in  a  cage,  we  depart  from 
the  city,  its  houses,  and  its  streets  of  houses,  its 
associations,  and  its  friendships.  We  depart  from 
the  city,  not  forgetful  of  its  benevolence,  its  secu 
rity,  its  protection.  Sorrow  be  to  him  who  would 
launch  a  Parthian  arrow  at  his  own  birth-place, 
wherever,  or  whatever  that  may  be ! 

It  must  be  confessed,  that  the  realization  of  a 
hope  is  sometimes  not  so  beautiful  as  the  hope 
itself.  It  must  be  confessed  that  turnpike  roads 
are  not  always  avenues  of  happiness ;  that  distance, 


£."2         SPAKKOWGKASS    PAPEKS. 

simply  contemplated  from  a  railroad  depot,  does 
not  lend  enchantment  to  the  view  of  a  load  of 
furniture  travelling  up  hill  through  a  hearty  rain 
storm  ;  that  communion  with  the  visible  forms  of 
nature,  now  and  then,  fails  to  supply  us  with  the 
requisite  amount  of  mild  and  healing  sympathy; 
that  a  rustic  cottage  may  be  overflowing  with  love, 
and  yet  overflowed  with  water ;  that,  in  fine,  liv 
ing  in  the  country  rarely  fulfils  at  once  the  idea  of 
living  in  clover.  To  one  accustomed  to  the  facile 
helps  of  a  great  city,  its  numerous  and  convenient 
stores,  its  limited  distances,  its  ready  attentions, 
and  its  easy  means  of  information  and  communica 
tion,  the  slow  and  sleepy  village  presents  a  con 
trast,  which,  upon  the  whole,  can  scarcely  be 
considered  as  favorable  to  the  latter.  Plumbers 
are  very  slow  in  the  country ;  carpenters  are  not 
swift;  locksmiths  seldom  take  time  by  the  fore 
lock  ;  the  painter  will  go  off  fishing ;  the  grocer  on 
a  pic-nic ;  the  shoemaker  to  the  menagerie : 

•"  The  butcher,  the  baker,  the  candlestick  maker, 
And  all  of  them  gone  to  the  fair," 

strikes  harshly  upon  the  nice,  civic  sense  of  one 
accustomed  to  the  prompt  exactitudes  of  the  town. 


A    SHOUT    ESSAY.  253 

Say,  however,  that  by  the  driving  wheel  of  per 
severance,  the  customary,  inside  economy  moves  on 
regularly  as  usual,  yet  are  there  new  sources  of 
disquiet ;  the  chickens  will  walk  into  the  kitchen, 
the  dogs  will  get  into  the  parlor,  and  the  children 
will  march  into  the  dining-room  with  an  incalcula 
ble  quantity  of  mud.  This  last  is  the  most  griev 
ous  trouble  of  all,  for  how  can  we  keep  the  children 
in,  or  keep  them  out  ?  Then,  too,  there  are  other 
little  matters ;  the  well  will  dry  up,  or  the  chimney 
will  smoke,  or  the  dogs  will  dig  immense  holes  in 
the  garden-beds,  or  somebody's  wagon  will  take  a 
slice  off  the  turf  border  of  the  grass-plat,  or  the 
garden-gate  will  fracture  one  of  its  hinges,  or 
something  or  other  of  some  kind  will  happen,  in 
some  way,  to  disturb  the  serenity  of  the  domestic 
sky.  And  let  it  be  remembered  also,  that  although 
a  green  hedge  is  a  very  pretty  object,  it  requires  to 
be  trimmed;  that  peas  must  be  supplied  with 
bushes  from  infancy ;  that  lima  beans  when  they 
want  poles,  have  to  be  indulged  in  that  weakness ; 
that  tomatoes  get  along  best  on  crutches ;  that  corn 
and  potatoes,  being  very  courteous  plants,  require 
a  little  bowing  and  scraping  at  times,  with  a  hoe ; 
that  garden  vegetables  of  all  conditions  seem 


254         SPARKOWGKASB   PAPERS. 

rather  fond  of  leading  a  ragged,  vagabond  life, 
and  therefore  should  be  trained  by  themselves, 
and  not  suffered  to  grow  up  in  a  rabble  of 
weeds. 

Let  it  then  be  fairly  and  candidly  confessed,  that 
living  in  the  country  does  not  exempt  from  care 
and  laborious  patience,  those,  who  build  their  hab 
itations  beneath  its  halcyon  skies.  There  are  many 
things  which  should  have  been  thought  of,  and 
which  one  never  does  think  of  as  accessories  in  the 
ideal  picture.  The  first  effort  of  rural  simplicity  is 
to  disabuse  the  mind  of  these  fallacies.  Once 
understood  that  life  in  the  country  does  not  imply 
exemption  from  all  the  cares  and  business  of 
ordinary  life ;  that  happiness,  here  as  elsewhere,  is 
only  a  glimpse  between  the  clouds ;  that  there  are 
positive  disadvantages  incurred  by  living  out  of 
town  ;  and  that  anticipation  must  succumb  to  the 
customary  discount;  once  understood,  and  carefully 
weighed  in  a  just  balance,  life  in  the  country 
becomes  settled  on  a  firm  basis  and  puts  on  its 
pleasantest  aspect. 

Then  a  well-ordered  garden  presents  manifold 
charms  to  the  eye,  whether  it  be  when  the  first 
green  shoots  appear,  or  in  the  ripened  harvest; 


A    S  H  o  R  T    ESSAY.  255 

then  every  bud  that  blows  bears  in  its  heart  a 
promise  or  a  memory;  then  rain-storms  are  foun 
tains  of  happiness  ;  then  the  chirping  of  early  birds 
is  sweeter  than  the  cunning  of  instruments ;  then 
the  iterated  chorus  of  insects  in  the  fields  is  pleas- 
anter  than  a  pastoral  poem ;  then  the  brown, 
unbroken  soil  has  an  earthy  smell  no  thing  can 
match ;  and  the  skies,  the  river,  the  mountains, 
with  a  thousand  touches,  illustrate  the  bounty, 
the  tenderness,  the  wondrous  providence  of  the 
Creator. 

Furthermore,  the  very  toil,  which  at  first  seems 
like  a  hardship,  betimes,  carries  with  it  a  recom 
pense.  As  the  frame  becomes  disciplined  by  the 
additional  duties  imposed  upon  it,  the  labor  grows 
lighter,  and  more  attractive ;  not  only  that,  the 
blood  circulates  with  renewed  life,  the  eye  becomes 
brighter,  the  muscles  more  elastic,  cheerfulness 
begins  to  ring  out  its  bells  in  the  clear  air,  and 
sleep  falls  upon  the  lids,  gentle  as  a  shadow. 

If  you  have  little  ones,  think  what  a  blessing 
such  discipline  is  to  them.  Just  look  at  the  boys, 
and  their  red-blown  cheeks,  and  their  sled  out  in 
the  snow  there !  Listen ;  did  you  ever  hear  such  a 
Christmas  carol  in  the  streets  ? 


256          SPAKROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

Not  the  smallest  item  in  the  account  is  this,  that 
for  want  of  other  pleasures,  parents  are  prone,  in 
the  country,  to  turn  their  attentions  to  the  little  ones, 
to  enter  more  familiarly  into  their  minor  world,  to 
take  a  part  in  its  pageants,  to  read  more  carefully  its 
tiny  history,  to  become  developed  by  its  delicate 

Sympathies,  so  that  in  time  one  gets  to  be  very  popu- 
ar  there,  and  is  hailed  as  a  comrade  and  good  fellow 
— one  of  the  elected — and  eligible  to  receive  all  the 
secret  grips  and  pass-words  of  the  order.  And  this 
is  not  to  be  lightly  considered  either,  for  how  can 
we  expect  our  children  will  make  us  their  choicest 
'  companions  when  we  are  old,  if  we  make  them  not 
our  friends  when  they  are  young  ?  And  as  a  child 
is  often  like  a  star  in  the  house,  why  should  not  the 
father  and  mother  be  nearest  to  its  light.  Jean 
Paul  Richter  somewhere  says  of  children,  "The 
smallest  are  nearest  God,  as  the  smallest  planets  are 
nearest  the  sun."  Therefore,  it  is  a  good  thing  not 
to  be  on  the  outside  of  their  planetary  system. 

Take  it  all  in  all,  then,  we  may  rest  assured,  that 
although  our  first  experiences  do  not  fulfill  the  ideal 
images  we  had  raised,  yet  when  the  fibres  become 
familiar  to  the  soil,  and  spread,  and  strengthen,  we 
soon  overcome  the  shock  of  transplantation.  Then 


MRS.    S.    DISCOUKSETH.  257 

our  new  life  burgeons  and  blossoms,  like  a  tree,  that 
in  more  open  ground  spreads  forth  its  happy  leaves 
to  catch  the  sunshine  and  the  rain,  the  air  and  the 
dews ;  and  ever  and  ever  growing  and  growing,  its 
harmonious  proportions  are  uplifted  nearer  and 
nearer  to  that  harmonious  Heaven,  which  God  has 
hung  with  clouds  and  studded  with  stars,  as  types 
and  symbols,  only,  of  the  glories  of  that  which  lies* 
still  further  beyond. 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  ?"  said  Mrs.  Sparrow- 
grass.  "  That  is  all,  my  dear,"  I  replied,  and  then 
very  composedly  lighted  a  cigar.  The  clock  ticked  ' 
loudly  again,  the  wood-fire  chirped,  and  the  thread 
and  needle  tugged  its  way  through  the  linen 
with  a  weary  note,  like  a  prolonged  sigh  with  the 
bronchitis. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Mrs.  S.,  after  a  pause  of 
fifteen  minutes'  duration  by  the  library  clock,  "  I 
think  you  have  not  done  justice  to  the  country. 
You  do  not  speak  at  all  of  the  pleasant  neighbors 
we  know,  of  the  pleasant  visits  we  have  had,  and 
the  parties  on  the  river,  and  the  beach  in  front  of 
the  house,  where  the  children  go  in  bathing  during 
the  summer  months,  and  the  fishing,  and  crabbing, 


258  SPARROWGRASS    PAPERS. 

and  the  delightful  drives  and  rides,  and  the  interest 
we  take  in  planting,  and  the  pleasure  of  picking  off 
the  early  peas,  and  the  quiet  of  our  Sabbaths,  and 
'  the  charm  of  seclusion,'  which  you  so  often  allude 
to  in  your  library,  when  you  sit  down  at  a  pile  of 
books." 

"  True." 

"  And  although  it  may  be  a  trifling  matter,  yet 
it  is  a  very  pleasant  thing  to  own  a  boat,  and  to 
have  a  hammock  swung  under  the  trees  for  the 
children  to  play  in,  or  to  read  and  smoke  in,  when 
you  are  tired  ;  and  to  keep  poultry,  and  to  watch  a 
young  brood  of  chickens,  and  to  have  eggs  fresh 
laid  for  breakfast." 

"  I  know  it." 

"  And  even  if  we  do  meet  with  mishaps,  what  of 
them  ?  I  never  do  expect  to  pass  through  life  with 
out  some  disappointments ;  do  you  3" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"And  then  you  have  scarcely  alluded  to  the 
country  in  winter  time :  why  nothing  can  compare 
with  it ;  I  could  not  have  believed  that  it  would 
have  been  so  beautiful,  if  I  had  not  seen  it  and 
known  it." 

(Three  puffs  of  smoke  in  rapid  succession.) 


M  K  8  .      S  .      C  O  N  T  I  N  U  E  T  H.  259 

"And  then  to  walk  through  a  green,  winding 
lane,  with  daisies  and  roses  all  along  on  both  sides, 
as  we  often  do  towards  evening,  in  summer,  is 
a  thing  worth  remembering." 

"  Worth  remembering  ?     It  is  a  poem  in  itself." 

"  And  the  pleasant  note  of  a  cow-bell  at  nightfall, 
or  in  the  wood  by  day,  is  a  pretty  sound." 

"  It  is  a  wonder  the  golden  chime  of  that  bell  has 
not  been  rolled  out  in  melodious  lines  by  some 
body."  (two  puffs  and  a  half.) 

"  And,  although  it  may  make  you  smile,  there  is 
something  very  musical  to  me,  in  the  bullfrog's 
whistle.  I  love  to  hear  it,  in  early  spring." 

"  After  that  we  may  expect  blue-birds." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  S.,  "  ah,  how  fond  the  children 
are  of  blue-birds." 

"  Yes,  and  how  thankful  we  should  be  that  they 
have  such  innocent  loves." 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  S.,  "  children  can  scarcely 
develop  their  natural  affections  in  the  city.  There 
is  nothing  for  them  to  cling  to,  nothing  to  awaken 
their  admiration  and  interest  there." 

"  Except  toy-stores,  which  certainly  do  wake  up 
an  immense  amount  of  admiration  and  interest  in 
the  small  fry,  Mrs.  S.3' 


260          SPARROWGEASS    PAPEES. 

"  True,  but  they  are  better  off  with  a  few  occa 
sional  presents.  I  know  how  happy  they  are  for 
a  short  time  with  them ;  but  I  fear  me  the  excitement 
is  not  productive  of  good.  Toys  produce  more  strife 
among  the  little  ones  than  all  the  pleasure  is 
worth.  For  my  part,  1  almost  dread  to  see  them 
come  into  the  house,  although  I  do  feel  gratified  in 
witnessing  the  surprise  and  delight  with  which 
they  are  received  by  the  children." 

"  That  is  a  clear  case." 

"  If  you  want  to  see  a  picture,"  continued  Mrs. 
S.,  full  of  the  theme,  and  putting  down  her  sewing, 
"  I  think  I  can  show  you  one  worth  looking  at." 

(One  short  puff,  and  one  eye  shut,  expressive  of 
an  anxious  desire  to  see  the  picture.) 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  rolled  back  the  library  win 
dow-shutters,  and  the  flood  of  white  light  that 
poured  into  the  room  fairly  dimmed  the  candle  on 
the  table.  There  was  the  pure  white  snow;  and  the 
round,  full  moon;  and  the  lustrous  stars;  and  the 
hazy  line  of  the  Palisades;  and  the  long  reach  of 
river  glistening  with  a  thousand  brilliants.  For 
from  every  point  of  ice  there  shone  a  nebulous 
light,  so  that  the  river  seemed  a  galaxy  studded 
with  magnificent  planets;  and  as  we  stood  gazing 


A    PICTURE    FROM    NATURE.       261 

upon  this  wondrous  scene,  we  heard  the  sound 
of  an  approaching  train,  and  then,  suddenly  redden 
ing  through  the  stone  arch  in  the  distance,  there 
darted  forth  into  the  night,  the  Iron  Meteor  with  its 
flaming  forehead,  and  so  flying  along  the  curve  of 
the  road,  thundered  by,  and  was  presently  heard 
no  more. 

I  think  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  rather  surpassed  her 
self  when  she  conjured  up  this  splendid  vision,  for 
she  became  very  grave  and  silent. 

"  This  beautiful  scene,"  said  I,  "  this  glistening 
river,  reminds  me  of  something,  of  a  scientific  fact, 
which,  although  true  in  itself,  sounds  like  the 
language  of  oriental  fable.  Did  you  know,  my 
dear,  that  those  vast  Palisades  yonder,  rest  upon 
beds  of  jewels?" 

"Beds  of  jewels?"  echoed  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  beds  of  jewels ;  for  these  are 
basaltic  rocks  of  volcanic  birth,  and  at  some  time 
were  spouted  up,  from  the  molten  caverns  below 
the  crust  of  the  earth,  in  a  fluid  state;  then  they 
spread  out  and  hardened  on  the  surface ;  so  that  if 
we  go  to,  or  a  little  below,  low-water  mark,  we  shall 
find  the  base  of  them  to  be  the  old  red  sandstone, 
upon  which  they  rest. 


262         SPARKOWGRASS    PAPERS. 

"  I  thought,"  replied  Mrs.  S.,  "  they  went  down 
very  deep  in  the  earth — that  they  were  like  all 
other  rocks." 

"  !No,"  I  answered,  "  they  are  not  rooted  at  all, 
but  only  rest  upon  the  top  of  old  red  sandstone. 
Well,  in  the  crevices  between  the  basaltic  and 
sandstone  rocks,  the  mineralogists  find  the  best 
specimens  of  amethysts,  onyxes,  sapphires,  agates, 
and  cornelians.  And  that  this  is  the  case  with  the 
Palisades,  has  been  often  proved  at  Fort  Lee,  where 
the  cliffs  begin.  There  the  sandstone  is  visible 
above  ground,  and  there  the  specimens  have  been 
found  imbedded  between  the  strata." 

"  You  are  sure  the  idea  is  not  imaginary  ?"  said 
Mrs.  S. 

"  All  true,  my  dear." 

"Then  I  shall  never  think  of  them  in  future, 
without  remembering  their  old  jewels ;  T  wonder, 
if  they  were  to  tumble  down  now  and  expose  their 
riches,  whether  the  amethysts  and  onyxes  would 
compare  with  the  brightness  of  those  frozen 
gems  ?" 

"  Certainly  not."  (Shutters  close.) 

"And  now,"  continued  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  "I 
want  to  show  you  another  picture ;"  and  with  that 


THE    LAST    WORD.  263 

she  lifted  the  candle  and  walked  softly  up  stairs 
before  me  into  the  nursery ;  there  were  five  little 
white-heads,  and  ten  little  rosy-cheeks,  nestled 
.among  the  pillows,  and  I  felt  a  proud,  parental  joy 
in  gazing  upon  their  healthy,  happy  faces,  and 
listening  to  their  robust  breathings. 

"  These,"  said  Mrs.  S.,  in  a  whisper,  as  she  shaded 
the  light,  "  are  my  jewels" 

"  And  mine  too,  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  whispered  Mrs.  S.,  very  seriously,  "  and 
if  ever  I  should  be  taken  away  from  them,  I  want 
you  to  promise  me  one  thing." 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is,"  said  I,  very  much  deter 
mined  that  I  would  do  it,  whatever  it  might  be. 

"  Promise  me,"  said  Mrs.  S.,  "  that  while  they 
are  growing  up  you  will  keep  them  from  the  city — 
that  their  little  minds  and  bodies  may  be  trained 
and  taught  by  these  pure  influences,  that,  so  long 
as  they  are  under  your  direction,  you  will  not 
deprive  them  of  the  great  privilege  they  now 
enjoy — that  of  living  in  the  country." 


REDOUBTABLE    ACHIEVEMENTS 


CAPTAIN    DAVIS 


CAPTAIN      BELGEAVE, 


12 


CAPTAIN    DAYIS: 


A     CALIF  ORNIAN     BALLAD 


TIIE  sources  of  the  following  ballad  are  to  be 
found  in  the  California  papers  of  December,  1854. 
It  appears  from  letters  published  in  the  Mountain 
Democrat  (extra)  and  the  Sacramento  Statesman, 
(extra)  that  a  party  of  miners  were  encamped  near 
Rocky-Canon,  a  deep  and  almost  inaccessible,  unin 
habited,  rocky  gorge,  near  Todd's  Valley ;  and  it 
happened  that  some  of  them  were  out  hunting  near 
the  canon,  in  which  they  saw  "  three  men  quietly 
following  the  trail  to  prospect  a  mine  of  gold-bear 
ing  quartz  in  the  vicinity.  Suddenly,  a  party  of 
banditti  sprang  out  of  a  thicket,  and  commenced 
firing  at  the  three  who  were  prospecting.  James 
McDonald,  of  Alabama,  was  killed  at  the  first  shot. 

2«7 


268  CAPTAIN    DAVIS: 

Dr.  Bolivar  A.  Sparks,  of  Mississippi,  fired 
at  the  robbers,  and  fell,  mortally  wounded.  Cap 
tain  Jonathan  R.  Davis,  of  South  Carolina,  then 
drew  his  revolvers  and  commenced  shooting  at  the 
enemy — every  ball  forcing  its  victim  to  bite  the 
dust.  He  was  easily  distinguished  from  the  rest  by 
his  white  hat,  and  from  his  being  above  the  medium 
'  height.  The  robbers  then  made  a  charge  upon 
him  with  their  knives  and  one  sabre.  Captain 
Davis  stood  his  ground  firmly  until  they  rushed  up 
abreast  within  four  feet  of  him.  He  then  made  a 
spring  upon  them  with  a  large  Bowie-knife,  and 
gave  three  of  them  wounds  which  proved  fatal." 
Afterwards  he  killed  all  the  rest,  and  then  tore  up 
his  shirt  to  bind  the  wounds  of  the  survivors.  The 
party  of  spectators  then  came  down.  It  seams 
they  had  been  prevented  joining  in  the  fight  from 
a  sense  of  etiquette :  as  the  letter  of  one  party 
expresses  it — "  Being  satisfied  that  they  were  all 
strangers,  we  hesitated  a  moment  before  we  ven 
tured  to  go  down."  When  they  got  down,  they 
found  eleven  men  stretched  on  the  ground,  with 
some  others  in  a  helpless  condition.  They  then 
formed  a  coroner's  jury,  and  held  an  inquest  over 
twelve  dead  bodies.  Captain  Davis  was  the  only 


A    CALIFOKNIAN    BALLAD.        269 

living  person  left  in  the  Rocky-Canon.  One  letter 
says  :  "  Although  we  counted  twenty-eight  bullet 
holes  through  Captain  Davis'  hat  and  clothes  (sev 
enteen  through  his  hat  and  eleven  through  his  coat 
and  shirt),  he  received  but  two  very  slight  flesh- 
wounds." 

The  ballad  was  written,  during  intervals  of 
severe  occupation,  upon  the  backs  of  business-let 
ters  and  scraps  of  cartridge-paper,  in  railroad  cars, 
and  on  the  Hoboken  ferry-boat.  This  will  be  ob 
vious  to  the  skillful,  upon  perusal.  The  object  of 
the  writer  was  to  preserve,  in  the  immortal  KNICK 
ERBOCKER  Magazine,  a  record  of  the  '  Battle  of 
Rocky-Canon,'  for  fear  the  story  might  be  lost  in 
the  perishable  pages  of  the  daily  press  : 

Ye  Battail  of  Rocky  Canyon. 

ALL  the  heroes  that  ever  were  born, 

Native  or  foreign,  bearded  or  shorn, 

From  the  days  of  Homer  to  Omar  Pasha 

"Who  mauled  and  maltreated  the  troops  of  the  Czar, 

And  drove  the  rowdy  Muscovite  back, 

Fin  and  Livonian,  Pole  and  Cossack, 

From  gray  Ladoga  to  green  Ukraine, 

And  other  parts  of  the  Russian  domain 

"With  an  intimation  exceedingly  plain, 

That,  thev'd  better  cut !  and  not  come  again  1 


270  CAPTAIN    DAVIS: 

All  the  heroes  of  olden  time 
"Who  have  jingled  alike  in  armor  and  rhyme, 
Hercules,  Hector,  Quintus  Curtius, 
Pompey,  and  Pegasus-riding  Perseus, 
Brave  Bayard,  and  the  brave  Koland, 

Men  who  never  a  fight  turned  backs  on  ; 
Charles  the  Swede,  and  the  Spartan  band, 

Coriolanus,  and  General  Jackson, 
Richard  the  Third,  and  Marcus  Brutus, 
And  others,  whose  names  won't  rhyme  to  suit  us, 
Must  certainly  sink  in  the  dim  profound 
When  Captain  Davis's  story  gets  round. 

Know  ye  the  land  where  the  sinking  sun 
Sees  the  last  of  earth  when  the  day  is  done  ? 
Where  the  course  of  empire  is  sure  to  stop, 
And  the  play  conclude  with  the  fifth-act  drop  ?  * 
Where,  wonderful  spectacle !  hand  in  hand 
The  oldest  and  youngest  nations  stand  ? 
Where  yellow  Asia,  withered  and  dry, 
Hears  Young  America,  sharp  and  spry, 
With  thumb  in  his  vest,  and  a  quizzical  leer, 
Sing  out,  "  Old  Fogie,  come  over  here!" 

Know  ye  the  land  of  mines  and  vines, 

Of  monstrous  turnips  and  giant  pines, 

Of  monstrous  profits  and  quick  declines, 

And  Howland  and  Aspinwall's  steamship  lines  ? 

Know  ye  the  land  so  wondrous  fair  ? 
Fame  has  blown  on  his  golden  bugle, 

From  Battery-place  to  Union-square, 

See  Berkeley. 


A    CALIFORNIAN    BALLAD.        271 

Over  the  Park  and  doAvn  McDougal ; 
Hither,  and  thither,  and  everywhere, 

In  every  city  its  name  is  known ; 
There  is  not  a  grizzly  "Wall-street  bear 

That  does  not  shrink  when  the  blast  is  blown : 
There  Dives  sits  on  a  golden  throne, 

With  Lazarus  holding  his  shield  before, 
Charged  with  a  heart  of  auriferous  stone, 

And  a  pick-axe  and  spade  on  a  field  of  or, 
Know  ye  the  land  that  looks  on  Ind  ? 

There  only  you'll  see  a  pacific  sailor, 
Its  song  has  been  sung  by  Jenny  Lind, 

And  the  words  were  furnished  by  Bayard  Taylor. 

Seaward  stretches  a  valley  there, 

Seldom  frequented  by  men  or  women ; 
Its  rocks  are  hung  with  the  prickly-pear, 

And  the  golden  balls  of  the  wild  persimmon ; 
Haunts  congenial  to  wolf  and  bear, 
Covered  with  thickets,  are  everywhere ; 
There's  nothing  at  all  in  the  place  to  attract  us, 
Except  some  grotesque  kinds  of  cactus  ; 
Glittering  beetles  with  golden  wings, 
Royal  lizards  with  golden  rings, 
And  a  gorgeous  species  of  poisonous  snake, 

That  lets  you  know  when  he  means  to  battle 
By  giving  his  tail  a  rousing  shake, 

To  which  is  attached  a  muffled  rattle. 

Captain  Davis,  (Jonathan  R.,) 

"With  James  McDonald,  of  Alabama, 
And  Dr.  Bolivar  Sparks  were  thar, 

Cracking  the  rocks  with  a  miner's  hammer ; 


272  CAPTAIN    DAVIS: 

Of  the  valley  they'd  heard  reports 
"  That  plenty  of  gold  was  there  in  quartz :" 
Gold  in  quartz  they  marked  not  there, 
But  p'ints  enough  on  the  prickly  pear, 
As  they  very  soon  found 
When  they  sat  on  the  ground, 

To  scrape  the  blood  from  their  cuts  and  scratches ; 
For  a  rickety  cactus  had  stripped  them  bare, 

And  cobbled  their  hides  with  crimson  patches. 
Thousands  of  miles  they  are  from  home, 

Hundreds  from  San  Francisco  city ; 
Little  they  think  that  near  them  roam 

A  baker's  dozen  of  wild  banditti ; 
Fellows  who  prowl,  like  stealthy  cats, 
In  velvet  jackets  and  sugar-loaf  hats, 
Covered  all  over  with  trinkets  and  crimes 

Watches  and  crosses,  pistols  and  feathers, 
Squeezing  virgins  and  wives  like  limes, 

And  wrapping  their  legs  in  unpatented  leathers : 
Little  they  think  how  close  at  hand 
Is  that  cock  of  the  walk— "the  Bold  Brigand !" 

And  here  I  wish  to  make  a  suggestion 

In  regard  to  those  conical,  sugar-loaf  hats, 
I  think  those  banditti,  beyond  all  question, 

Some  day  will  find  out  they  're  a  parcel  of  flats ; 
For  if  that  style  is  with  them  a  passion, 
And  they  stick  to  those  hats  in  spite  of  the  fashion, 
Some  Tuscan  Leary,  Genin,  or  Knox, 

Will  get  those  brigands  in  a bad  box  ; 

For  the  Chief  of  Police  will  send  a  "  Star  "  ' 
To  keep  a  look-out  near  the  hat  bazaar  : 


A    CALIFOKNIAN    BALLAD.        273 

And  when  Fra  Diavolo  comes  to  buy 
The  peculiar  mode  that  suits  his  whim, 

He  may  find  out,  if  the  Star  is  spry, 

That  instead  of  the  hat  they've  ironed  him  ! 

Captain  Davis,  and  James  McDonald, 

And  Doctor  Sparks  together  stand  ; 
Suddenly,  like  the  fierce  Clan  Eonald, 

Bursts  from  the  thicket  the  Bold  Brigand, 
Sudden,  and  never  a  word  spoke  they, 
But  pulled  their  triggers  and  blazed  away. 

"  Music,"  says  Halleck,  "  is  everywhere ;" 

Harmony  guides  the  whole  creation  ; 
But  when  a  b^ullet  sings  in  the  air 
So  close  to  your  hat  that  it  moves  your  hair, 
To  enjoy  it  requires  a  taste  quite  rare, 

"With  a  certain  amount  of  cultivation. 
But  never  music,  homely  or  grand, 
Grisi's  "  l>rorma  "  or  Gungl's  band, 
The  distant  sound  of  the  watch-dog's  bark, 

The  coffee-mill's  breakfast-psalm  in  the  cellar, 
"  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  or  the  sweet  "  Sky-lark," 

Sung  by  Miss  Pyne,  in  "  Cinderella;" 
Songs  that  remind  us  of  days  of  yore, 
Curb-stone  ditties  we  loved  to  hear, 
"  Brewers'  yeast  /"  and  "  Straw,  oat  straw  /" 
"  Lily-wldte  corn,  a  penny  an  ear  /" 

Kustic  music  of  chanticleer, 
"  Robert  the  Devil,"  by  Meyerbeer, 

Played  at  the  "  Park  "  when  the  Woods  were  here, 
Or  any  thing  else  that  an  echo  brings 
From  those  mysterious  vibrant  strings, 
12-" 


274:  CAPTAIN    DAVIS: 

That  answer  at  once,  like  a  telegraph  line, 

To  notes  that  were  written  in  "  Old  Lang  Syne  ;" 

Nothing,  I  say,  ever  played  or  sung, 

Organ  panted,  or  bugle  rung, 

Not  even  the  horn  on  the  Switzer  Alp, 

"Was  half  so  sweet  to  the  Captain's  ear 
As  the  sound  of  the  bullet  that  split  his  scalp, 

And  told  him  a  scrimmage  was  awful  near. 

Come,  0  Danger !  in  any  form, 
"  The  earthquake's  shock  or  the  ocean-storm ;" 
Come,  when  its  century's  weight  of  snow 
The  avalanche  hurls  on  the  Swiss  chateau ; 
Come  with  the  murderous  Hindoo  Thug, 
Come  with  the  Grizzly's  fearful  hug, 
With  the  Malay's  stab,  or  the  adder's  fang, 
Or  the  deadly  flight  of  the  boomerang, 
But  never  come  when  carbines  bang 
That  are  fired  by  men  who  must  fight  or  hang. 

On  they  came,  with  a  thunderous  shout 

That  made  the  rocky-canon  ring : 
("  Canon,"  in  Spanish,  means  tube,  or  spout, 
Gorge,  or  hollow,  or  some  such  thing.) 
On  they  come,  with  a  thunderous  noise  ; 
Captain  Davis  said,  calmly,  "  Boys, 
I've  been  a-waiting  to  see  them  chaps  ;" 
And  with  that  he  examined  his  pistol-caps ; 
Then  a  long,  deep  breath  he  drew, 
Put  in  his  cheek  a  tremendous  chew, 
Stripped  off  his  waist-coat  and  coat,  and  threw 
Them  down,  and  was  ready  to  die  or  do. 


A    CALIF  OK  NIAN    BALLAD.        275 

Had  I  Bryant's  belligerent  skill, 

"Wouldn't  I  make  this  a  bloody  fight  ? 
Or  Alfred  Tennyson's  crimson  quill, 

"What  thundering,  blundering  lilies  I'd  write  I 
I'd  batter,  and  hack,  and  cut,  and  stab, 
And  gouge,  and  throttle,  and  curse,  and  jab ; 
I'd  wade  to  my  ears  in  oaths  and  slaughter, 
Pour  out  blood  like  brandy  and  water ; 
Hit  'em  again  if  they  asked  for  quarter, 

And  clinch,  and  wrestle,  and  yell,  and  bite. 
But  I  never  could  wield  a  carnivorous  pen 
Like  either  of  those  intellectual  men ; 
I  love  a  peaceful,  pastoral  scene, 
With  drowsy  mountains,  and  meadows  green, 
Covered  with  daisies,  grass,  and  clover, 

Mottled  with  Dorset  or  South-down  sheep — 
Better,  than  fields  with  a  red  turf  over, 

And  men  piled  up  in  a  Waterloo  heap. 
But,  notwithstanding,  my  fate  cries  out : 
"Put  Captain  Davis  in  song  and  story! 
That  children  hereafter  may  read  about 

His  deeds  in  the  Kocky-Caflon  foray  1" 

James  McDonald,  of  Alabama 

Fell  at  the  feet  of  Doctor  Sparks  ; 
Doctor,"  said  he,  "  I  'm  as  dead  as  a  hammer, 

And  you  have  a  couple  of  bullet  marks. 
This,"  he  gasped,  "  is  the  end  of  life." 
"  Yes,"  said  Sparks,  "  't  is  a  mighty  solver ; 
Excuse  me  a  moment — just  hold  my  knife, 

And  I'll  hit  that  brigand  with  my  Colt's  revolver." 

Then  through  the  valley  the  contest  rang, 
Pistols  rattle  and  carbines  bang ; 


276  CAPTAIN    DAVIS: 

Horrible,  terrible,  frightful,  diro 
Flashed  from  the  vapor  the  foot-pads'  fire, 
Frequent,  as  when  in  a  sultry  night 
Twinkles  a  meadow  with  insect-light ; 
But  deadlier  far  as  the  Doctor  found, 

When,  crack !  a  ball  through  his  frontal  bone 
Laid  him  flat  on  his  back  on  the  hard-fought  ground, 

And  left  Captain  Davis  to  go  it  alone ! 

Oh !  that  Koger  Bacon  had  died ! 

Or  Schwartz,  the  monk,  or  whoever  first  tried 

Cold  iron  to  choke  with  a  mortal  load, 

To  see  if  saltpetre  wouldn't  explode. 

For  now,  when  you  get  up  a  scrimmage  in  rhyme, 

The  use  of  gunpowder  so  shortens  the  time, 

That  just  as  your  Iliad  should  have  begun, 

Your  epic  gets  smashed  with  a  Paixhan  gun ; 

And  the  hero  for  whom  you  are  tuning  the  string 

Is  dead  before  '  arms  and  the  man '  you  sing ; 

To  say  nothing  of  how  it  will  jar  and  shock 

Your  verses  with  hammer,  and  rammer,  and  stock, 

Bullet  and  wad,  trigger  and  lock, 

Nipple  and  cap,  and  pan  and  cock  ; 
But  wouldn't  I  like  to  spread  a  few  pages 
All  over  with  arms  of  the  middle  ages? 
Wouldn't  I  like  to  expatiate 
On  Captain  Davis  in  chain  or  plate  ? — 

Spur  to  heel,  and  plume  to  crest, 

Visor  barred,  and  lance  in  rest, 

Long,  cross-hilted  brand  to  wield, 

Cuirass,  gauntlets,  mace,  and  shield; 
Cased  in  proof  himself  and  horse, 
From  frontlet-spike  to  buckler-boss ; 


A    CALIFORNIA^    BALLAD.        277 

Harness  glistering  in  the  sun, 

Plebeian  foes,  and  twelve  to  one ! 
I  tell  you  now  there's  a  beautiful  chance 
To  make  a  hero  of  old  romance ; 
But  I'm  painting  his  picture  for  after-time, 
And  don't  mean  to  sacrifice  truth  for  rhyme. 

Cease,  Digression  ;  the  fray  grows  hot ! 

Never  an  instant  stops  the  firing ; 
Two  of  the  conical  hats  are  shot, 

And  a  velvet  jacket  is  just  expiring : 
Never  yields  Captain  Davis  an  inch, 
For  he  didn't  know  how,  if  he  wished,  to  flinch ; 
Firm  he  stands  in  the  Rocky  Gorge, 

Moved  as  much  by  those  vagrom  men 
As  an  anvil  that  stands  by  a  blacksmith's  forge 

Is  moved  by  the  sledge-hammer's  "  ten-pound-ten!" 
Firm,  though  his  shirt,  with  jag  and  rag, 
Eesembles  an  army's  storming-flag  : 
Firm,  till  sudden  they  give  a  shout, 

Drop  their  shooters  and  clutch  their  knives ; 
"When  he  said :  "  I  reckon  their  powder's  out, 

And  I've  got  three  barrels,  and  that's  three  lives ! 

One !  and  the  nearest  steeple-crown 

Stood  aghast,  as  a  minster  spire 

Stands,  when  the  church  below  is  on  fire, 
Then  trembles,  and  totters,  and  tumbles  down. 
Don  Pasquale  the  name  he  bore, 

Near  Lecco  was  reared  his  ancestral  cot, 
Close  by  Lago  Como's  shore, 

For  description  of  which,  see  "  Claude  Melnotte." 


278  CAPTAIN    DAVIS: 

Two !  and  instantly  drops,  with  a  crash, 
An  antediluvial  sort  of  moustache ; 
Such  as  hundreds  of  years  had  grown, 
"When  scissors  and  razors  were  quite  unknown. 
He  from  that  Tuscan  city  had  come, 
Where  a  tower  is  built  all  out  of — plumb ! 
Puritani  his  name  was  hight — 
A  terrible  fellow  to  pray  or  fight. 

Three  !  and  as  if  his  head  were  cheese, 

Through  Castadiva  a  bullet  cut ; 
Knocked  a  hole  in  his  os  unguis, 

And  bedded  itself  in  the  occiput. 
Daily  to  mass  his  widow  will  go, 

In  that  beautiful  city  a  lovely  moaner, 
Where  those  supernatural  sausages  grow, 

Which  we  mis-pronounce  when  we  style  "Bellona!" 


As  a  crowd,  that  near  a  depot  stands 

Impatiently  waiting  to  take  the  cars, 
Will  "clear  the  track "  when  its  iron  bands 

The  ponderous,  fiery  hippogriff  jars, 
Yet  the  moment  it  stops  don't  care  a  pin, 
But  hustle  and  bustle  and  go  right  in ; 
So  the  half  of  the  band  that  still  survives, 
Comes  up  with  long  moustaches  and  knives, 
Determined  to  mince  the  Captain  to  chowder, 
So  soon  as  it's  known  he  is  out  of  powder. 


Six  feet  ono,  in  trowsers  and  shirt, 
Covered  with  sweat,  and  blood,  and  dirt ; 


A    CALIFOKNIAN    BALLAD.        279 

N"ot  very  much  scared  (though  his  hat  was  hurt, 
And  as  full  of  holes  as  a  garden-squirt) ; 
Awaiting  the  onslaught,  behold  him  stand 
"With  a  twelve-inch  "  Bowie"  in  either  hand. 
His  cause  was  right,  and  his  arms  were  long, 
His  blades  were  bright,  and  his  heart  was  strong ; 
All  he  asks  of  the  trinketed  clan 
Is  a  fiird's-eye  view  of  the  foremost  man  ; 
But  shoulder  to  shoulder  they  come  together, 
Six  sugar-loaf  hats  and  twelve  legs  of  leather : — 
Fellows  whose  names  you  can't  rehearse 
"Without  instinctively  clutching  your  purse  : 

Badiali  and  Bottesini, 

Fierce  Alboni  and  fat  Dandini, 

Old  Rubini  and  Mantillini, 

Cherubini  and  Paganini : 
(But  I  had  forgot  the  last  were  shot ; 
No  matter,  it  don't  hurt  the  tale  a  jot.) 


Onward  come  the  terrible  crew ! 

"Waving  their  poignards  high  in  air, 
But  little  they  dream  that  seldom  grew 

Of  human  arms  so  long  a  pair 
As  the  Captain  had  hanging  beside  him  there, 

Matted,  from  shoulder  to  wrist,  with  hair ; 

Brawny,  and  broad,  and  brown,  and  bare. 


Crack !  and  his  blade  from  point  to  heft 
Has  cloven  a  skull,  as  an  egg  is  cleft ; 
And  round  he  swings  those  terrible  flails, 
Heavy  and  swift,  as  a  grist-mill  sails ; 


280  CAPTAIN    DAVIS: 

"Whack !  and  the  loftiest  conical  crown 
Falls  full  length  in  the  Eocky  Valley  ; 

Smack  !  and  a  duplicate  Don  goes  down, 
As  a  ten-pin  falls  in  a  bowling-alley. 

None  remain  but  old  Eubini, 

Fierce  Alboni,  and  fat  Dandini : 

"Wary  fellows,  who  take  delight 

In  prolonging,  as  long  as  they  can,  a  fight, 

To  show  the  science  of  cut  and  thrust, 

The  politest  method  of  taking  life ; 
As  some  men  love,  when  a  bird  is  trussed, 

To  exhibit  their  skill  with  a  carving-knife : 
But  now  with  desperate  hate  and  strength, 
They  cope  with  those  arms  of  fearful  length. 

A  scenic  effect  of  skill  and  art, 

A  beautiful  play  of  tierce  and  carte, 

A  fine  exhibition  it  was,  to  teach 

The  science  of  keeping  quite  out  of  reach. 

But  they  parry,  and  ward,  and  guard,  and  fend, 

And  rally,  and  dodge,  and  slash,  and  shout, 
In  hopes  that  from  mere  fatigue  in  the  end 

He  either  will  have  to  give  in  or  give  oat. 

t 

Never  a  Yankee  was  born  or  bred 
"Without  that  peculiar  kink  in  his  head 
By  which  he  could  turn  the  smallest  amount 
Of  whatever  he  had  to  the  best  account. 
So  while  the  banditti  cavil  and  shrink, 
It  gives  Captain  Davis  a  chance  TO  THINK  ! 
And  the  coupled  ideas  shot  through  his  brain, 
As  shoots  through  a  village  an  express-train  ; 


A    CALIFORNIAN    BALLAD.        281 

And  then !  as  swift  as  the  lightning  flight, 

"When  the  pile-driver  falls  from  its  fearful  height, 

He  brings  into  play,  by  way  of  assister, 

His  dexter  leg  as  a  sort  of  ballista ; 

Smash!  in  the  teeth  of  the  nearest  rogue, 

He  threw  the  whole  force  of  his  hob-nailed  brogue  ! 

And  a  horrible  yell  from  the  rocky  chasm 

Rose  in  the  air  like  a  border  slogan, 
When  old  Rubini  lay  in  a  spasm, 

From  the  merciless  kick  of  the  iron  brogan. 

As  some  old  Walton,  with  line  and  hook, 
"Will  stand  by  the  side  of  a  mountain-brook, 
Intent  upon  taking  a  creel  of  trout, 
But  finds  so  many  poking  about 
Under  the  roots,  and  stones,  and  sedges, 
In  the  middle,  and  near  the  edges, 
Eager  to  bite,  so  soon  as  the  hackle 
Drops  in  the  stream  from  his  slender  tackle, 
And  finally  thinks  it  a  weary  sport, 
To  fish  where  trout  are  so  easily  caught ; 
So  Captain  Davis  gets  tired  at  last 
Of  fighting  with  those  that  drop  down  so  fast, 
And  a  tussle  with  only  a  couple  of  men 
Seems  poor  kind  of  fun,  after  killing-off  ten ; 
But  just  for  the  purpose  of  ending  the  play 
He  puts  fierce  Alboni  first  out  of  the  way, 
And  then  to  show  Signer  Dandini  his  skill, 
He  splits  him  right  up,  as  you'd  split  up  a  quill ; 
Then  drops  his  Bowie,  and  rips  his  shirt 
To  bandage  the  wounds  of  the  parties  hurt ; 
An  act,  as  good  as  a  moral,  to  teach 
"That  none  are  out  of  humanity's  reach," 


282  CAPTAIN    DAVIS. 

An  act  that  might  have  produced  good  fruit, 
Had  the  brigands  survived,  but  they  didn't  do  it. 

Sixteen  men  do  depose  and  say, 
"That  in  December,  the  twentieth  day, 
They  were  standing  close  by  when  the  fight  occurred, 
And  are  ready  to  swear  to  it,  word  for  word, 
That  a  bloodier  scrimmage  they  never  saw ; 
That  the  bodies  were  sot  on,  accordin'  to  law  ; 
That  the  provocation  and  great  excitement 
"Wouldn't  justify  them  in  a  bill  of  indictment ; 
But  this  verdict  they  find  against  Captain  Davis, 
That  if  ever  a  brave  man  lived — he  brave  is." 


CAPTAIN  BELGRAYE. 
i. 

"  My  eyes  make  pictures  when  they  are  shut. 

IN  one  of  those  villages  peculiar  to  our  Eastern 
coast,  whose  long  lines  of  pepper-and-salt  stone- 
fences  indicate  laborious,  if  not  profitable  farming, 
and  where  the  saline  breath  of  the  ocean  has  the 
effect  of  making  fruit-trees  more  picturesque  than 
productive,  in  a  stone  chunk  of  a  house,  whose 
aspect  is  quite  as  interesting  to  the  geologist 'as  to 
the  architect,  lives  Captain  Belgrave. 

The  Captain,  as  he  says  himself,  "is  American 
clean  through,  on  the  father's  side,  up  to  Plymouth 
Rock,  and  knows  little,  and  cares  less,  of  what  is 
beyond  that."  To  hear  him  talk,  you  wrould  sup 
pose  Adam  and  Eve  had  landed  there  from  the 
May-Flower,  and  that  the  Garden  of  Eden  was 
located  within  rifle  distance  of  that  celebrated 

283 


284  CAPTAIN    BELGKAVE. 

land-mark.  His  genealogical  table,  however, 
stands  upon  unequal  legs ;  for,  on  his  mother's  side 
he  is  part  German  and  part  Irishman.  I  mention 
this  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  believe  that  cer 
tain  qualities  in  men  are  hereditary.  Of  course  it 
will  be  easy  for  them  to  assign  those  of  Captain 
Belgrave  to  their  proper  source. 

The  house  is  square,  and  would  not  be  remarka 
ble  but  for  a  stone  turret  on  one  corner.  This, 
rising  from  the  ground  some  forty  feet,  embroidered 
with  ivy,  and  pierced  with  arrow-slits,  has  rather  a 
feudal  look.  It  stands  in  a  by-lane,  apart  from  the 
congregated  village.  On  the  right  side  of  the 
road  is  a  plashy  spring,  somewhat  redolent  of  mint 
in  the  summer.  Opposite  to  this,  in  a  clump  of 
oaks,  surrounded  with  a  picket-fence,  is  the  open 
porch,  with  broad  wooden  benches,  and  within  is 
an  ample  hall,  looking  out  upon  well-cultivated 
fields,  and  beyond  —  blue  water!  This  is  the 
"  Oakery,"  as  Captain  Belgrave  calls  it.  Here 
he  lives  with  his  brother  Adolphus — bachelors 
both. 

His  title  is  a  mystery.  There  is  a  legend  in  the 
village,  that  during  the  last  war  Belgrave  was 
enrolled  in  the  militia  on  some  frontier.  One  night 


CAPTAIN    BELGKAVE.  285 

lie  was  pacing  as  sentinel  on  a  long  wooden  piazza 
in  front  of  the  General's  quarters.  It  was  midnight ; 
the  camp  was  asleep,  and  the  moon  was  just  sinking 
behind  a  bank  of  clouds.  Belgrave  heard  a  foot 
step  on  the  stairs  at  the  foot  of  the  piazza.  "  Who 
goes  there  ?"  No  answer.  Another  step.  "  Who 
goes  there?"  he  repeated,  and  his  heart  began  to 
fail  him.  No  answer — but  another  step.  He  cocked 
his  musket.  Step !  step !  step !  and  then  between 
him  and  the  sinking  moon  appeared  an  enormous 
head,  decorated  with  diabolical  horns.  Belgrave 
drew  a  long  breath  and  fired.  The  next  instant 
the  spectre  was  upon  him  ;  he  was  knocked  down  ; 
the  drums  beat  to  arms ;  the  guard  turned  out,  and 
found  the  sentinel  stretched  upon  the  floor,  with 
an  old  he-goat,  full  of  defiance  and  odor,  standing 
on  him.  From  that  time  he  was  called  "  Captain." 
No  place,  though  it  be  a  paradise,  is  perfect 
without  one  of  the  gentler  sex.  There  is  a  lady  at 
the  Oakery.  Miss  Augusta  Belgrave  is  a  maiden 
of  about — let  me  see;  her  age  was  formerly 
inscribed  on  the  fly-leaf  of  the  family  Bible 
between  the  Old  and  New  Testaments;  biit  the 
page  was  torn  out,  and  now  it  is  somewhere  in  the 
Apocrypha.  No  matter  what  her  age  may  be  ;  if 
yon  were  to  sec  her,  you  would  say  she  was  saty 


286  CAPTAIN    B  E  L  G  K  A  v  E  . 

over  the  breakers.  Two  unmarried  brothers,  with 
a  spinster  sister,  living  alone :  it  is  not  infrequent 
in  old  families.  The  rest  of  the  household  may  be 
embraced  in  Hannah,  the  help,  who  is  also  "  a 
maiden  all  forlorn,"  and  Jim,  the  stable-boy.  Jim 
is  a  unit,  as  well  as  the  rest.  Jim  has  been  a 
stable-boy  all  his  life,  and  now,  at  the  age  of  sixty, 
is  only  a  boy  ripened.  His  chief  pride  and  glory 
is  to  drive  a  pair  of  bob-tailed  bay  trotters  that  are 
(traditionally)  fast !  Adolphus,  who  has  a  turn  for 
literature,  christened  the  off-horse  "  Spectator ;" 
but  the  near  horse  came  from  a  bankrupt  wine- 
broker,  who  named  him  "Chateau  Margaux." 
This  the  Captain  reduced  to  "Shatto,"  and  the 
village  people  corrupted  to  "  Shatter." 

There  was  something  bold  and  jaunty  in  the  way 
the  Captain  used  to  drive  old  Shatter  on  a  dog-trot 
through  the  village  (Spectator  rarely  went  with  his 
mate  except  to  church  on  Sundays),  with  squared 
elbows,  and  whip  depending  at  a  just  angle  over 
the  dash-board.  "Talk  of  your  fast  horses!"  he 
would  say.  "  Why,  if  I  would  only  let  him  out," 
pointing  his  whip,  like  a  marshal's  baton,  toward 
Shatter,  "you  would  see  time!"  But  he  never 
lets  him  out. 

The  square  turret  rises  considerably   above  the 


CAPTAIN    BELGBAVE.  287 

house  roof.  Every  night,  at  bed-time,  the  villagers 
see  a  light  shining  through  its  narrow  loop-holes. 
There  are  loop-holes  in  the  room  below,  and  strong 
casements  of  ordinary  size  in  the  rooms  adjoining. 
In  the  one  next  to  the  tower  Miss  Augusta  sleeps, 
as  all  the  village  knows,  for  she  is  seen  at  times  look 
ing  out  of  the  window.  Next  to  that  is  another  room, 
in  which  Adolphus  sleeps.  He  is  often  seen  look 
ing  out  of  that  window.  Next,  again,  to  that  is  the 
vestal  chamber  of  Hannah,  on  the  south-west 
corner  of  the  house.  She  is  sometimes  seen  look 
ing  out  of  the  window  on  either  side.  Next  to 
that  again  is  the  dormitory  of  Jim,  the  stable-boy. 
Jim  always  smells  like  a  menagerie,  and  so  does 
his  room,  no  doubt.  He  never  looks  out  of  his 
window  except  upon  the  Fourth  of  July,  when 
there  is  too  much  noise  in  the  village  to  risk  driv 
ing  Spec  and  Shat.  No  living  person  but  the 
occupants  has  ever  been  in  that  story  of  the  house. 
No  living  person  understands  the  mystery  of  the 
tower.  The  light  appears  at  night  through  the 
loop-holes  in  the  second  story,  then  flashes  upward, 
shines  again  through  the  slits  in  the  lofty  part  of 
the  turret,  burns  steadily  half  an  hour  or  so,  and 
then  vanishes.  Who  occupies  that  lonely  turret? 


288  CAPTAIN    B  E  L  G  R  A  v  E  . 

Let  us  take  the  author-privilege  and  ascend  the 
stairs.  First  we  come  to  Jim's  room  ;  we  pass 
through  that  into  Hannah's  apartment.  There  is 
a  bolt  on  the  inside  of  her  door;  we  pass  on  into 
the  room  of  Adolphus ;  it,  too,  has  a  bolt  on  the 
inside.  Now  all  the  virtues  guide  and  protect  us, 
for  we  are  in  the  sleeping-apartment  of  the  spinster 
sister  !  It,  too,  has  a  bolt  on  the  inside ;  and  here 
we  are  in  the  tower:  the  door,  like  the  rest,  is 
bolted.  There  is  nothing  in  the  room  but  the 
carpet  on  the  floor ;  no  stair-case,  but  a  trap-door 
in  the  ceiling.  It  is  but  a  short  flight  for  fancy  to 
reach  the  upper  story.  The  trap  is  bolted  in  the 
floor;  there  is  a  ladder  standing  beside  it;  here 
are  chairs,  a  bureau,  a  table,  with  an  extinguished 
candle,  and  the  moonlight  falls  in  a  narrow  strip 
across  the  features  of  Captain  Belgrave,  fast  asleep, 
and  beside  him  a  Bible,  and  an  enormous  horse- 
pistol,  loaded. 

Nowhere  but  in  the  household  of  some  old 
bachelor  could  such  discipline  exist  as  in  the 
Oakery.  At  night  the  Captain  is  the  first  to 
retire  ;  Miss  Augusta  follows  with  a  pair  of  candle 
sticks  and  candles;  then  metaphysical  Adolphus 
with  his  mind  in  a  painful  state  of  fermentation  ; 


CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE.  289 

then  Hannah,  the  help,  with  a  small  brass  candle 
stick  ;  then  Jim,  the  stable-boy,  who  usually  waits 
until  the  company  is  on  the  top-stair,  when  he 
makes  a  false  start,  breaks,  pulls  himself  up,  and 
gets  into  a  square  trot  just  in  time  to  save  being  dis 
tanced  at  the  landing.  Adolphus  and  Jim  are  not 
trusted  with  candles.  Miss  Augusta  is  rigorous  on 
that  point.  She  permits  the  Captain  to  have  one 
because  he  is  careful  with  it ;  besides  he  owns  the 
house  and  everything  in  it ;  the  land  and  every 
thing  on  it ;  and  supports  the  family ;  therefore  his 
sister  indulges  him.  We  now  understand  the 
internal  arrangement  of  the  Oakery.  It  is  a  fort, 
a  castle,  a  citadel,  of  which  Augusta  is  the  scarp, 
Jim  the  glacis,  Hannah  the  counter-scarp,  and 
Adolphus  the  ditch.  The  Captain  studied  the 
science  of  fortification  after  his  return  from  the 
wars. 

The  Belgraves  are  intimate  with  only  one  family 
in  the  village,  and  they  are  new  acquaintances — 
the  Mewkers.  There  is  Mr.  Mewker,  Mrs.  Mewker, 
Mrs.  Lasciver,  ftn'merly  Miss  Mewker,  and  six  or 
seven  little  Mewkers.  Mewker  has  the  repu 
tation  of  being  a  good  man,  but  unfortunately  his 
appearance  is  not  prepossessing.  He  has  large 

18 


290  CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE. 

•  • 

bunchy  feet,  with  very  ineffectual  legs,  low  shoul 
ders,  a  sunken  chest,  a  hollow  cavity  under  the 
waistcoat,  little,  weak  eyes  that  seem  set  in  blad 
ders,  straggling  hair,  rusty  whiskers,  black,  and 
yellow  teeth,  and  long,  skinny,  disagreeable  fingers ; 
beside,  he  is  knock-kneed,  shuffling  in  gait,  and 
always  leans  on  one  side  when  he  walks.  Unchari 
table  people  say  he  leans  on  the  side  where  his 
interests  lie,  but  Captain  Belgrave  will  not  believe 
a  word  of  it.  Oh !  no  ;  Mewker  is  a  different  man 
from  that.  He  is  a  member  of  the  church,  and 
sings  in  the  choir.  He  is  executor  of  several 
estates,  and  of  course  takes  care  of  the  orphans 
and  widows.  He  holds  the  church  money  in  trust, 
and  of  course  handles  it  solely  to  promote  its 
interests.  And  then  he  is  so  deferential,  so  polite, 
so  charitable.  "Never,"  says  the  Captain,  "did  I 
hear  him  speak  ill  of  anybody,  but  he  lets  me 
into  the  worst  points  of  my  neighbors  by  jest  tech- 
ing  on  'em,  and  then  he  excuses  their  fibles,  as  if 
he  was  a  kind  o'  sorry  for  'em;  but  I  keeps  my  eye 
onto  'em  after  the  hinta^he  give  me,  and  he  can't 
blind  me  to  them" 

Harriet  Lasciver,  formerly  Miss  Mewker,  is  a 
widow,  perfectly  delicious  in  dimples  and  dimity, 


CAPTAIN    BELGEAVE.  291 

fond  of  high  life  and  low-necked  dresses,  music, 
birds,  and  camelias.  Captain  Belgrave  has  a  great 
fancy  for  the  charming  widow.  This  is  a  secret, 
however.  You  and  I  know  it,  and  so  does  MewTcer. 


n. 

It  is  Sunday  in  Little-Crampton — a  summer 
Sunday.  The  old-fashioned  flowers  are  blooming 
in  the  old-fashioned  gardens,  and  the  last  vibration 
of  the  old  rusty  bell  in  the  century-old  belfry  seems 
dying  off,  and  melting  away  in  fragrance.  Out- 
sido,  the  village  is  quiet,  but  within  the  church 
there  is  an  incessant  plying  of  fans  and  rustling  of 
dresses.  The  Belgraves  are  landed  at  the  porch, 
and  Spec  and  Shat  whirl  the  family  carriage  into 
the  grave-yard.  The  Mewkers  enter  with  due 
decorum.  Adolphus  drops  his  hymn-book  into  the 
pew  in  front,  as  he  always  does.  The  little  flatu 
lent  organ  works  through  the  voluntary.  The  sleek 
head  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Spat  is  projected  toward  the 
audience  out  of  the  folds  of  his  cambric  handker 
chief;  and  after  doing  as  much  damage  to  the 
simple  and  beautiful  service  as  he  can  by  reading 
it,  flourishes  through  the  regular  old  Spatsonian 


292  CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE. 

sermon ;  its  tiresome  repetitions  and  plagiarisms, 
with  the  same  old  rising  and  felling  inflections,  the 
same  old  tremulous  tone  toward  the  end,  as  if  he 
were  crying;  the  same  old  recuperative  method  by 
which  he  recovers  his  lost  voice  in  the  last  sentence, 
when  it  was  all  but  gone ;  and  the  same  old  gesture 
by  which  the  audience  understand  that  his  labors 
(and  theirs)  are  over  for  the  morning.  Then  the 
congregation  departs  with  the  usual  accompani 
ments  of  dresses  rustling,  and  pew-doors  slamming ; 
and  Mr.  Mewker  descends  from  the  choir  and  sidles 
up  the  aisle,  nursing  his  knobs  of  elbows  in  his 
skinny  fingers,  and  congratulates  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Spat  upon  the  excellent  discourse  he  had  delivered, 
and  receives  the  customary  quid  pro  quo  in  the 
shape  of  a  compliment  upon  the  excellent  singing 
in  the  choir.  This  account  adjusted,  Mr.  Mewker 
shuffles  home  beside  the  lovely  widow ;  and  Mrs. 
Mewker  and  the  small  fry  of  members  follow  in 
their  wake. 

"1  have  looked  into  the  records  in  the  county 
clerk's  office,"  Mewker  says  in  a  whisper,  to  his 
sister,  "and  the  property  is  all  right.  That  old 
Tiling,  (unconscious  Augusta  Belgrave,  rolling 
home  behind  Spec  and  Shat,  do  you  hear  this?) 


CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE.  293 

that  old  Thing,  and  that  old  fool  of  a  book-worm 
(Adolphus)  can  be  packed  off  after  the  wedding, 
and  then  we  can  arrange  matters  between  us. 
Spat  understands  me  in  this,  and  intends  to  be 
hand  and  glove  with  Belgrave,  so  as  to  work  upon 
him.  He  will,  he  must  do  it,  for  he  knows  that  his 
remaining  in  this  church  depends  upon  me."  Here 
Mr.  Mewker  was  interrupted  by  one  of  the  young 
Mewkers,  who  came  running  up,  hat  in  hand. 
"  Oh !  pa,  look  there !  see  those  beautiful  climbing 
roses  growing  all  over  that  old  tree !"  "  Jacob," 
said  Mewker,  catching  him  by  the  hair,  and  rapping 
his  head  with  his  bony  knuckles  until  the  tears 
came,  "haven't  I  told  you  not  to  speak  of  such 
trivial  things  on  the  Sabbath?  How  dare  you 
(with  a  repetition  of  raps)  think  of  climbing  roses 
so  soon  after  church  ?  Go  (with  a  fresh  clutch  in 
the  scalp  of  Mewker,  Junior),  go  to  your  mother, 
and  when  I  get  home  I  will  punish  you."  Mr. 
Mewker  resumed  the  whispered  conversation. 
"Belgrave  is  ruled  entirely  by  his  sister,  but 
between  Spat  and  me,  she  can  be  blinded,  I  think. 
If  she  should  suspect,  now,  she  would  interfere,  of 
course,  and  Belgrave  would  not  dare  to  disobey 
her.  But  if  we  can  get  him  committed  once  in 


CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE. 

some  way,  he  is  such  a  coward  that  he  would 
be  entirely  in  my  power.  Dear,"  he  said  aloud  to 
Mrs.  M.,  "how  did  you  like  the  sermon?"  An 
gelic,"  replies  Mrs.  Mewker.  "That's  my  opinion, 
too."  responds  Mewker.  "Angelic,  angelic.  Spat 
is  a  lovely  man,  my  dear.  What  is  there  for 
dinner  ?" 

If  there  were  some  feminine  meter  by  which 
Harriet  Lasciver's  soul  could  be  measured,  it 
would  indicate  "  good "  pretty  high  up  on  the 
scale.  Yet  she  had  listened  to  this  after-church 
discourse  of  her  brother  not  only  with  compla 
cency,  but  with  a  full  and  unequivocal  assent  to  all 
he  had  proposed.  So  she  would  have  listened,  so 
assented  to  anything,  no  matter  wrhat,  proposed  by 
him  ;  and  all  things  considered,  it  was  not  surpris 
ing.  Even  as  continued  attrition  wears  the  angles 
of  the  flint  until  it  is  moulded  into  the  perfect  peb 
bles,  so  had  her  nature  been  moulded  by  her 
brother.  He  had  bullied  her  in  her  childhood 
and  in  her  womanhood,  except  when  there  was  a 
purpose  in  view  which  he  could  better  accomplish 
by  fawning ;  and  her  natural  good  disposition,  so 
indurated  by  these  opposed  modes  of  treatment, 
had  become  as  insensible  to  finer  emotions  as  her 


CAPTAIN    BELGKAVE.  295 

heart  was  callous  to  its  own  impulses.  There  was 
one  element  in  his  composition  which  at  times  had 
cast  a  gloss  upon  his  actions.  It  was  his  piety  !  God 
help  us  !  that  any  one  should  allude  to  that  but 
with  reverence  and  lore  !  Nor  do  I  here  speak  of 
it  but  as  a  profession,  an  art,  or  specious  showing 
forth  of  something  that  was  not  real,  \)\\iprofessed^ 
in  order  to  accomplish  other  ends.  What  profited 
her  own  experience,  when  Harriet  Lasciver  was  so 
far  imposed  upon  as  to  believe  her  brother's  pro 
fessions  sincere?  What  though  all  his  life  he  had 
been  a  crooked  contriver  and  plotter,  malicious  in 
his  enmity,  and  false  in  his  friendship ;  and  she 
knew  it  ?  Yet,  as  she  could  not  reconcile  it  with  his 
affected  sanctity,  she  could  not  believe  it.  That 
wonderful  power  which  men  seldom,  and  women 
never  analyze — hypocrisy,  held  her  entangled  in 
its  meshes,  and  she  was  his  instrument  to  be  guided 
as  he  chose.  Every  noble  trait  true  woman  pos 
sesses — pity,  tenderness,  love,  and  high  honor — 
were  commanded  by  an  influence  she  could  not 
resist.  Her  reason,  nay,  h'er  feelings  were  dormant, 
bivt  her  faith  slept  securely  upon  her  brother's 
religion ! 

In  this  instance  there  was  another  consideration 


296  CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE. 

— a  minor  one,  it  is  true,  but  in  justice  to  the 
widow,  it  must  be  added.  She  really  admired  the 
Captain;  but  that  makes  no  great  difference.  A 
widow  must  love  somebody.  Those  delicate 
tendrils  of  affection  which  put  forth  with  the 
experiences  of  the  young  wife,  die  not  in  the  widow, 
but  survive,  and  must  have  some  support.  Even 
if  the  object  be  unworthy  or  unsightly,  as  it  hap 
pens  sometimes,  still  will  they  bind,  and  bloom, 
and  cling,  and  blossom  around  it,  like  honey 
suckles  around  a  pump. 


in. 

The  windows  at  the  Oakery  are  open,  and  the 
warm  air  of  a  Sunday  summer  evening  pours  in, 
as  Augusta  pours  out  the  tea.  The  Captain  burns 
his  mouth  with  the  first  cup,  turns  the  tea  into  the 
saucer,  blows  it  to  cool  it,  drinks  it  off  hastily, 
takes  a  snap  at  the  thin,  white  slice  of  bread  on 
his  plate,  takes  another  snap  at  a  radish  somewhat 
overcharged  with  salt,  wipes  his  mouth,  goes  to  the 
window  and  calls  out  "  Jim !"  Jim  appears  at  the 
stable-door  with  a  wisp  of  straw  and  a  curry-comb. 
"Put  in  the  bosses!"  Jim  telegraphs  with  the 


CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE.  297 

curry-comb,  "All  right,  Sir!"  Augusta  stares  at 
Adolphus,  and  Adolphus  brushes  the  metaphysical 
Hlms  from  his  eyes,  and,  for  once,  seems  wide 
awake.  The  Captain  takes  his  seat  and  a  fresh 
snap  at  the  bread.  Augusta  looks  at  him  steadily. 
"  Why,  brother,  where  are  you  going  with  the 
horses  on  Sunday  afternoon  ?"  The  Captain  squints 
at  the  bread,  and  answers,  "  To  Mewker's." 
"  Mewker's !"  repeats  Augusta ;  "  Mewker's !  why, 
brother,  you're  crazy ;  they  never  receive  com 
pany  on  Sunday.  You  know  how  strictly  pious 
Mr.  Mewker  is,  and  he  would  look  at  you  with 
amazement.  To  see  you  riding,  too !  why — I — 
never !" 

The  Captain,  however,  said  nothing,  but  waited, 
with  some  impatience,  until  Spec  and  Shat  turned 
out  with  the  carriage  from  the  stable.  Then  he 
took  the  ribbons,  stopped,  threw  them  down,  went 
up  into  the  tower,  came  back  with  a  clean  shirt  on, 
climbed  into  the  seat,  and  drove  off. 

"  He'll  come  back  from  there  in  a  hurry,  I 
guess,"  said  Augusta  to  the  wondering  Adolphus. 

But  the  Captain  did  not  return  until  eleven  that 
night,  and  then  somewhat  elevated  with  wine. 
"  Augushta,"  said  he,  as  the  procession  formed  as 


298  CAPTAIN    BELGKAVE. 

usual  on  the  stairs,  "  that  Mucous  'sha  clever  feller, 
heesha  clever  feller,  heesha  dev'lish  clever  feller ; 
heesh  fond  of  talking  on  church  matters,  and  sho 
'mi.  His  shister,  sheesha  another  clever  feller, 
she's  a  chump !  I  asked  'em  to  come  to-morrow  to 
tea,  and  shaid  they  would." 

"  Why,  brother,  to-morrow  is  Monday,  washing- 
day  !"  replied  the  astonished  spinster. 

"  Tha  's  a  fac,  Gushta,  fac,"  answered  the  Captain, 
as  he  took  the  candle  from  his  sister  at  the  tower- 
door  ;  "  but,  wash  or  no  wash,  musht  come.  When 
I  ask  'em  to  come,  musht  come.  Goo-ni !" 

The  bolts  are  closed  on  the  several  doors,  scarp 
and  counterscarp,  ditch  and  glacis  are  wrapped  in 
slumber ;  but  the  Captain  lies  wide  awake,  looking 
through  the  slits  in  the  tower  casement  at  the 
Great  Bear  in  the  sky,  and  thinking  rapturously  of 
the  lovely  Lasciver. 

Never  did  the  old  family  carriage  have  such  a 
polishing  as  on  that  Monday  morning.  Never  did 
Jim  so  bestir  himself  with  the  harness  as  on  that 
day  under  the  eye  of  Belgrave.  The  Captain 
neglects  to  take  his  accustomed  ride  to  the  village 
in  the  morning,  that  Spec  and  Shat  may  be  in  con 
dition  for  the  afternoon.  At  last  the  carriage  rolls 


CAPTAIN   BELGKAVE.  299 

down  the  road  from  the  Oakery,  with  Jim  on  the 
box,  and  the  Captain  retires  to  dress  for  company.  In 
due  course  the  carriage  returns  with  Spec  and  Shat 
somewhat  blown  with  an  over-load ;  for  all  the 
young  Mewkers  are  piled  up  inside,  on  the  laps  of 
Mrs.  Mewker  and  the  lovely  Lasciver.  Then 
Augusta  hurries  into  the  kitchen  to  tell  Hannah, 
the  help,  to  cut  more  bread  for  the  brats  ;  and  Adol- 
phus  is  hurried  out  into  the  garden  to  pull  more 
radishes  :  and  the  young  Mewker  tribe  get  into  his 
little  library,  and  revel  in  his  choice  books,  and 
quarrel  over  them,  and  scatter  some  leaves  and 
covers  on  the  floor  as  trophies  of  the  fight.  Then 
the  tea  is  brought  on,  and  the  lovely  Lasciver  tries 
in  vain  to  soften  the  asperity  of  Augusta ;  and  then 
Mewker  takes  her  in  hand,  and  does  succeed,  and 
in  a  remarkable  degree,  too.  Meanwhile  the 
ciphers  of  the  party,  Mrs.  Mewker  and  Adolphus, 
drink  and  eat  in  silence.  Then  they  adjourn  to 
the  porch,  and  Mewker  sits  beside  Augusta,  and 
entertains  her  with  an  account  of  the  missions  in 
Surinam,  to  which  she  turns  an  attentive  ear- 
Then  Mrs.  Mewker  says  it  is  time  to  go,  "on 
account  of  the  children,"  at  which  Mewker 
darts  a  petrifying  look  at  her,  and  turns  with  a 


300  CAPTAIN    BELGBAVE. 

smile  to  Augusta,  who,  in  the  honesty  of  her  heart, 
says  "  she,  too,  thinks  it  is  best  for  the  young  ones 
to  go  to  bed  early.  Then  Jim  is  summoned  from 
the  stable,  and  Spec  and  Shat ;  and  the  Mewkers 
take  leave,  and  whirl  along  the  road  again  toward 
home. 

It  was  long  before  the  horses  returned,  for  Jim 
drove  back  slowly.  There  was  not  a  tenderer 
heart  in  the  world  than  the  one  which  beat  in  the 
bosom  of  that  small  old  boy  of  sixty.  He  sat 
perched  upon  the  box,  calling  out,  "  Gently,  soho !" 
to  Spec  and  Shat,  when  they  advanced  beyond  a 
walk,  and  held  a  talk  with  himself  in  this  wise : 
"  I  don't  want  to  carry  that  old  carcase  agin.  He 
gits  in  and  praises  up  the  Cap'n  so  as  I  can  hear 
him,  and  then  asks  me  if  I  won't  lay  the  whip  on 
the  bosses.  Says  I,  '  Mr.  Hewker,  them  bosses  has 
been  druv.'  Says  he,  '  Yes,  James,  but  you  can 
give  'em  a  good  rubbin'  down  when  you  get  to 
hum,  and  that  will  fetch  'em  all  right.'  Now,  I 
want  to  know  if  you  take  a  man,  and  lay  a  whip 
onto  him,  and  make  him  travel  till  he's  sore,  whe 
ther  rubbin'  down  is  a-goin'  to  make  him  all  right? 
No,  Sir.  Then  he  calls  me  James.  I  don't  want 
no  man  to  call  me  James  ;  my  name's  Jim.  There 


CAPTAIN    BELGEAVE.  301 

was  old  Midgely  ;  lie  called  me  James  ;  didn't  he 
coax  out  of  me  all  I'd  saved  up  for  rnore'n  twenty 
years,  and  then  busted  ?  There  was  Deacon 
Cotton  ;  didn't  he  come  in  over  the  Captain  with 
that  pork  ?  He  called  me  James,  too.  And  there 
was  that  psalm-singin'  pedlar  that  got  Miss  Augusty 
to  lend  him  the  colt ;  he  called  me  James.  Did  he 
bring  the  colt  back  ?  No,  Sir  ;  at  least  not  yit,  and 
it's  more'n  three  years  ago.  "When  a  man  calls  me 
James,  I  take  my  eye  and  places  it  onto  him.  I 
hearn  him  when  he  tells  Miss  Mewker  not  to  give 
beggars  nothin'.  /  hearn  him.  He  sez  they  may 
be  impostors  !  Well,  'spose  they  be  ?  When  a  fel- 
ler-creetur'  gits  so  low  as  to  beg,  haven't  they  got 
low  enough  ?  Aint  they  ragged,  dirty,  despised  ? 
Don't  they  run  a  chance  of  starvin',  impostors  or 
not,  if  every  body  drives  'em  off?  And  what  great 
matter  is  it  if  they  do  get  a-head  of  you,  for  a  crumb 
or  a  cent  ?  "When  I  see  a  feller-creatur'  in  rags, 
beggin',  I  say  human  natur'  has  got  low  enough  ; 
it's  in  rags  !  it  begs  !  it's  'way  down,  and  it  don't 
make  much  difference  if  it's  actin'  or  not.  Them 
aint  impostors  that  will  do  much  harm.  Them  aint 
impostors  like  old  Midgely,  and  Deacon  Cotton, 
and  that  old  psalm-singin'  pedlar  that  borrowed  the 


302  CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE. 

colt ;  at  least  they  don't  cut  it  so  fat.  But  'spose 
they  don't  happen  to  be  impostors,  arter  all  ? 
Whar's  that  account  to  be  squared  ?  I  guess  I'd 
rayther  be  the  beggar  than  the  other  man  when 
that  account  is  squared.  I  guess  when  that  account 
is-  squared,  it  will  kind  a-look  as  if  the  impostor 
wasn't  the  one  that  asked  for  the  stale  bread,  but 
the  one  that  wouldn't  give  it.  Seems  as  if  I've 
heard  'em  tell  about  a  similar  case  somewhere." 

A  good  rubbing  down,  indeed,  for  Spec  and  Shat 
that  night,  and  a  well-filled  manger  too.  "When 
Jim  picked  up  his  stable-lantern,  he  gave  each 
horse  a  pat  on  the  head,  and  a  parting  hug,  and 
then  backed  out,  with  his  eyes  still  on  them. 
"  Spec !"  said  he  at  the  door.  Spec  gave  a  whinny 
in  reply.  "  Shat !"  Shat  responded  also.  "  Good 
night,  old  boys !  Old  Jim  aint  a-goin'  to  lay  no 
whip  onto  you.  If  old  Jim  wants  to  lay  a  whip 
onto  something,  it  won't  be  onto  you,  that's  been 
spavined  and  had  the  bots,  and  he's  cured  'em,  and 
they  know  it,  hey  !  No,  Sir.  His  'tipathy  works 
outside  into  another  quarter.  Is  my  name  James  ? 
Well,  it  aint.  It's  Jim,  isn't  it  ?  Yes,  Sir !" 


CAPTAIN   BELGEAVE.  303 

* 

IV. 

From  that  night,  however,  the  halcyon  days  of 
Spec  and  Shat  were  at  an  end.  The  Hewkers 
loved  to  ride,  but  they  had  no  horses  :  the  only 
living  thing  standing  upon  four  legs  belongin^to 
Mr.  Mewker  was  an  ugly,  half-starved,  cross- 
grained,  suspicious  looking  dog,  that  had  the 
mange  and  a  bad  reputation.  Of  course,  the  Cap 
tain's  horses  were  at  their  service,  for  rides  to  the 
beach,  for  pic-nics  in  the  woods,  for  shopping  in  the 
village,  or,  perchance,  to  take  Mr.  Mewker  to  some 
distant  church-meeting.  And  not  only  were  the 
horses  absent  at  unusual  times  ;  there  seemed  to  be 
a  growing  fondness  in  the  Captain  for  late  hours*. 
The  old-style  regularity  of  the  Oakery,  the  time- 
honored  habits  of  early  hours  to  bed,  the  usual  pro 
cession  up  the  stairs,  formal  but  cheerful,  were,  in 
some  measure,  broken  into ;  not  but  what  these 
were  observed  as  formerly;  not  but  what  every 
member  of  the  family  waited  and  watched  until 
the  Captain  returned,  no  matter  how  late ;  but 
that  sympathetic  feeling  which  all  had  felt  when 
the  hour  of  bed-time  came,  had  ceased  to  be, 
and  in  its  place  was  the  dreary  languor,  the  tire- 


304  CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE. 

somfc,  tedious  feeling  that  those  experience  who  sit 
up  and  wait  and  wait,  for  an  absent  one,  waiting 
and  asking,  "  Why  tarry  the  wheels  of  his  chariot?" 
There  was  an  increasing  presentiment,  a  gloomy 
foreshadowing  of  evil,  in  Miss  Augusta's  mind  at 
these  doings  of  the  Captain :  and  this  feeling  was 
heightened  by  something,  trifling  in  itself,  yet  still 
mysterious  and  unaccountable.  Somebody,  almost 
every  day,  cut  off  a  tolerably  large  piece  from  the 
beef  or  mutton,  or  whatever  kind  of  meat  there 
chanced  to  be  in  the  cellar.  And  nobody  knew 
anything  about  it.  Hannah  was  fidelity  itself ;  Jim 
was  beyond  suspicion ;  Adolphus  never  went  into 
the  cellar,  scarcely  out  of  the  library,  in  fact.  The 
Captain  !  could  it  be  her  brother  ?  Miss  Augusta 
watched.  She  saw  him  do  it!  She  saw  him 
covertly  draw  his  jack-knife  from  his  pocket,  and 
purloin  a  piece  of  beautiful  rump-steak,  then  wrap 
it  in  paper,  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  walk  off 
whistling,  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  "  The 
widow  is  at  the  bottom  of  this !"  was  the  thought 
that  flashed  through  the  mind  of  Augusta.  She 
was  indirectly  correct.  The  widow  was  at  the 
bottom  of  the  theft,  and  I  will  tell  you  how.  I 
have  mentioned  a  large  mangy  dog,  of  disreputable 


CAPTAIN    BELGKAVE.  305 

character,  Mr.  Mewker's  property,  and  "  Bose  "  by 
name.  Whenever  the  Captain  drove  up  the  path  to 
the  house  of  his  friend,  there,  beside  the  step  of  the 
wagon,  from  the  time  it  passed  the  gate  until  it 
reached  the  porch,  was  this  dog,  with  a  tail  short 
as  pie-crust,  that  never  wagged ;  thick,  wicked 
eyes,  and  a  face  that  did  not  suggest  fidelity  and 
sagacity,  but  treachery  and  rapine,  dead  sheep,  and 
larceny  great  or  small.  And  although  the  Captain 
was  a  stout,  active,  well-framed  man,  with  a  rosy 
cheek,  a  bright  eye,  and  a  sprightly  head  of  hair, 
yet  he  was  afraid  of  that  dog.  And  therefore  the 
Captain,  to  conciliate  Bose,  brought  him  every  day 
some  choice  morsel  from  his  own  kitchen ;  and  as 
he  did  not  dare  to  tell  Augusta,  the  same  was 
abstracted  in  the  manner  already  described. 

Here  I  must  mention  a  peculiarity  in  Captain 
Belgrave's  character.  He  never  saw  a  dog  without 
thinking  of  hydrophobia ;  he  never  bathed  on 
the  beautiful  beach  in  the  rear  of  his  house  without 
imagining  every  chip  in  the  water,  or  ripple  on  the 
wave,  to  be  the  dorsal  fin  of  some  voracious  shark. 
"When  he  drove  home  at  night,  it  was  with  fear  and 
trembling,  for  an  assassin  might  be  lurking  in  the 
bushes ;  and  if  he  passed  a  sick  neighbor,  ho 


306  CAPTAIN   BELGKAVE. 

walked  off  with  small-pox,  measles,  typhoid,  and 
whooping-^ough  trundling  at  his  heels.  In  a  word, 
he  was  the  most  consummate  coward  in  Little- 
Crampton.  It  was  for  this  reason  he  had  built  and 
slept  in  the  tower ;  and  what  with  reading  of 
pirates,  buccaneers,  Captain  Kidd,  and  Black 
Beard,  his  mind  was  so  infected  that  no  sleeping- 
place  seemed  secure  and  safe,  but  his  own  turret 
and  trap-door,  scarp,  counter-scarp,  ditch,  and 
glacis,  through  which  all  invaders  had  to  pass  be 
fore  they  encountered  him  with  his  tremendous 
horse-pistol. 

It  was  not  the  discovery  of  the  theft  alone  that 
had  opened  the  eyes  of  Augusta  in  regard  to  her 
brother's  motions.  Although  he  had  told  her, 
again  and  again,  that  he  merely  went  to  Mewker's 
to  talk  over  church  matters,  yet  she  knew  intu 
itively,  as  every  woman  would,  that,  a  widow  so 
lovely  as  Harriet  Lasciver  could  not  but  have  great 
attractions  for  such  an  old  bachelor  as  her  brother. 
In  fact,  she  knew,  if  the  widow,  as  the  phrase  is, 
"  set  her  cap  for  him,"  the  Captain  was  a  lost  man. 
But  to  whom  could  she  apply  for  counsel  and  assis 
tance  ?  Adolphus  ?  Adolphus  had  no  more  sense 
than  a  kitten.  Hannah  ?  There  was  something  of 


CAPTAIN    BELGKAVE.  307 

the  grand  old  spinster-spirit  about  Augusta  that 
would  not  bend  to  the  level  of  Hannah,  the  help. 
Jim  ?  She  would  go  to  Jim.  She  would  see  that 
small  boy  of  sixty,  and  ask  his  advice.  And  she 
did.  She  walked  over  to  the  stable  in  the  evening, 
while  her  brother  was  making  his  toilet  for  the 
customary  visit  to  the  Mewkery,  and  without  beat 
ing  around  the  bush  at  all,  reached  the  point  at 
once.  "  Jim,"  said  she,  "  the  Captain  is  getting  too 
thick  with  the  Mewkers,  and  we  must  put  a  stop  to 
it,  How  is  that  to  be  done?" 

Jim  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  held  up  his 
forefinger.  "I  know  one  way  to  stop  him  a-goin' 
there  ;  and,  if  you  say  so,  Miss  Augusta,  then  old 
Jim  is  the  boy  to  do  it." 

Augusta  assented  in  a  grand,  old,  towering  nod. 
Jim,  with  a  mere  motion  of  hjs  forefinger,  seemed 
to  reiterate,  "  If  you  say  so,  I'll  do  it." 

"Yes." 

"  Then,  by  Golly !"  responded  Jim,  joyfully, 
"  arter  this  night  he'll  never  go  there  ag'in." 

Augusta  walked  toward  the  house  with  a  smile, 
and  Jim  proceeded  to  embellish  Shatter. 

By-and-by  the  Captain  drove  off  in  the  wagon, 
and  old  Jim  busied  himself  with  Spectator,  fitting 


CAPTAIN    BELGKAVE. 

a  mouldy  saddle   on   his  back,  and  getting  him 
ready  for  action. 

v. 

There  was  a  thin  cloud,  like  lace,  over  the  moon 
that  night;  just  enough  to  make  objects  painfully 
distinct,  as  Captain  Belgrave  turned  out  from  Mew- 
ker's  gate,  and  took  the  high  road  toward  home. 
He  jogged  along,  however,  quite  comfortably,  and 
had  just  reached  the  end  of  Mewker's  fence,  when 
he  saw  a  figure  on  horseback,  emerging  from  the 
little  lane  that  ran  down,  behind  the  garden,  to  the 
pond  at  the  back  of  the  house.  The  apparition 
had  a  sort  of  red  cape  around  its  shoulders  ;  a  sol 
dier-cap,  with  a  tall  plume  (very  like  the  one  the 
Captain  used  to  wear  on  parade),  was  upon  its 
head ;  in  its  hand  was  a  long,  formidable-looking 
staff ;  and  the  horse  of  the  spectre  was  enveloped 
in  a  white  saddle-cloth,  that  hung  down  almost  to 
the  ground.  What  was  remarkable,  Old  Shatter, 
as  if  possessed  with  the  devil,  actually  drew  out  of 
the  road  toward  the  stranger,  and  gave  a  whinny, 
which  was  instantly  responded  to  in  the  most  fright 
ful  tones  by  the  horse  of  the  spectre.  Almost  par 
alyzed,  the  Captain  suffered  the  apparition  to 


CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE.  309 

approach  him.  What  a  face  it  had  !  Long  masses 
of  hair,  like  tow,  waved  around  features  that 
seemed  to  have  neither  shape  nor  color.  Its  face 
seemed  like  a  face  of  brown  paper,  so  formless  and 
flat  was  it,  with  great  hideous  eyes  and  a  mouth  of 
intolerable  width.  As  it  approached,  the  figure 
seemed  to  have  a  convulsion — it  rolled  so  in  the 
saddle ;  but,  recovering,  it  drew  up  beside  the 
shaft,  and,  whirling  its  long  staff,  brought  such  a 
whack  upon  Shatter's  flank,  that  the  old  horse 
almost  jumped  out  of  his  harness.  Away  went  the 
wagon  and  the  Captain,  and  away  went  the  spectre 
close  behind ;  fences,  trees,  bushes,  dust,  whirled 
in  and  out  of  sight ;  bridges,  sedges,  trout-brooks, 
mills,  willows,  copses,  plains,  in  moonlight  and 
shadow",  rolled  on  and  on  ;  but  not  an  inch  was  lost 
•or  won ;  there,  behind  the  wagon,  was  the  goblin 
with  his  long  plume  bending,  and  waving,  and 
dancing,  and  his  staff  whirling  with  terrible  mena- 

O7  O 

ces.  On,  and  on,  and  on,  and  ever  and  anon  the 
goblin  steed  gave  one  of  those  frightful  whinnies 
that  seemed  to  tear  the  very  air  with  its  dissonance. 
On,  and  on,  and  on  !  The  Captain  drove  with  his 
head  turned  back  over  his  shoulder,  but  Shat  knew 
the  road.  On,  and  on,  and  on  !  A  thought  flashes 


310  CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE. 

like  inspiration  through  the  mind  of  the  Captain, 
"  The  horse-pistol !"  It  is  under  the  cushions.  He 
seizes  it  nervously,  cocks  it,  and — bang !  goes  the 
plume  of  the  goblin.  "  By  gosh!"  said  a  voice 
under  the  soldier-cap,  "  I  didn't  cal'late  on  that ;" 
and  then,  "  I  vum  ef  old  Shat  hain't  run  away !" 
Sure  enough,  Shatto  has  run  away ;  the  wagon  is 
out  of  sight  in  a  turn  of  the  road ;  the  next  instant, 
it  brings  up  against  a  post ;  off  goes  Shat,  with 
shafts  and  dislocated  fore- wheels ;  and  old  Jim  soon 
after  finds  the  remains  of  the  wagon,  and  the  sense 
less  body  of  his  master,  in  a  ditch,  under  the  moon, 
and  a  willow.  To  take  the  red  blanket  from  his 
shoulders,  which  he  had  worn  like  a  Mexican  pon 
cho  by  putting  his  head  through  a  hole  in  the  mid 
dle,  is  done  in  an  instant ;  and  then,  with  big  tears 
rolling  down  his  cheeks,  the  old  boy  brings  water 
from  a  spring,  in  the  crown  of  the  soldier-cap,  to 
bathe  the  face  ef  the  Captain.  The  report  of  the 
pistol  has  alarmed  a  neighbor ;  and  the  two,  with 
the  assistance  of  the  hind  wheels  and  the  body  of 
the  wagon,  carry  poor  Belgrave  through  the  moon 
lit  streets  of  Little-Crampton,  to  the  Oakery. 

When  the  Captain  opened  his  eye  (for  the  other 
was  under  the  tuition  of  a  large  patch  of  brown 


CAPTAIN    BELGKAVE.  311 

paper,  steeped  in  vinegar),  he  found  himself  safe 
at  home,  surrounded  and  fortified,  as  usual,  by 
Augusta,  Adolphus,  Hannah,  the  help,  and  Jim,  in 
picturesque  attitudes.  How  he  came  there,  was  a 
mystery.  Stay  ;  he  begins  to  take  up  the  thread  : 
Mewkers,  fence,  the  figure,  the  race  for  life,  and 
the  pistol !  What  else  ?  Nothing — blank — obliv 
ion.  So  he  falls  into  a  tranquil  state  of  comfort, 
and  feels  that  he  does  not  care  about  it.  No  get 
ting  up  that  steep  ladder  to-night !  Never  mind. 
It  is  a  labor  to  think,  so  he  relapses  into  thought 
lessness,  and  finally  falls  asleep.  There  was  a 
stranger  in  the  room  behind  the  bed's  head,  a  tall, 
astringent-looking  man,  Dr.  Butternuts,  by  whom 
the  Captain  had  been  let  blood.  If  Belgrave  had 
seen  him,  he  would  have  fainted.  "  No  injuries  of 
any  consequence,"  says  the  doctor,  departing  and 
waving  his  brown  hand.  "  Terribly  skart,  though," 
Augusta  responds,  in  a  whisper.  "  Yes,  he  will 
get  over  that ;  to-morrow  he  will  be  better ;"  and 
the  doctor  waves  himself  out.  Adolphus  retires, 
and  then  Hannah,  the  help  ;  but  Augusta  and  Jim 
watch  by  the  bedside  until  morning.  The  Captain, 
every  now  and  then,  among  the  snowy  sheets  and 
coverlet,  turns  up  a  side  of  face  that  looks  like  a 


312  CAPTAIN    BELGKAVE. 

large,  purple  egg-plant,  at  which  Jim  sighs  heavily  ; 
but  Augusta  whispers  soothingly,  u  Never  mind, 
Jim,  it's  for  his  good ;  I'm  glad  you  skart  him  ; 
you  skart  him  a  leetle  too  much  this  time,  that's 
all ;  next  time  you'll  be  more  careful,  won't  you, 
and  not  skear  him  so  bad  ?" 

That  Captain  Belgrave  had  been  thrown  from 
his  wagon,  and  badly  hurt,  was  known  all  over 
Little-Crampton,  next  morning.  Some  said  he  had 
been  shot  at  by  a  highwayman  ;  some  said  he  had 
shot  a  highwayman.  The  story  took  .a  hundred 
shapes,  and  finally  was  rolled  up  at  the  door  of  the 
Rev.  Melchior  Spat,  who  at  once  took  his  wagon, 
and  drove  off  to  the  Mewkery.  There  the  rumor 
was  unfolded  to  Mr.  Mewker,  who,  enjoying  it 
immensely,  made  so  many  funny  remarks  thereon, 
that  the  Rev.  Melchior  Spat  was  convulsed  with 
laughter,  and  then  the  two  drove  down  to  the  Oak 
ery  to  condole  with  the  sufferer.  On  the  way 
there,  the  Rev.  Melchior  was  so  wonderfully  face 
tious,  that  Mewker,  who  never  enjoyed  any  per 
son's  jokes  but  his  own,  was  actually  stimulated 
into  mirth,  and  had  it  not  been  for  happily  catch 
ing  a  distant  sight  of  the  tower,  would  have  so  for 
gotten  himself  as  to  drive  up  to  the  door  with  a 


CAPTAIN    BELGKAVE.  313 

pleasant  expression  of  countenance.  As  it  was, 
they  both  entered  grave  as  owls,  and  inquired,  in 
faint  and  broken  voices,  how  the  Captain  was,  and 
•vhether  he  was  able  to  see  friends.  Augusta,  who 
received  them,  led  them  up  to  the  room,  where  the 
Captain,  with  his  face  like  the  globe  in  the  equi 
nox,  sitting  propped  up  in  bed,  shook  both  feebly 
by  the  hand,  and  then  the  Rev.  Melchior  proposed 
prayer,  to  which  Mewrker  promptly  responded  by 
dropping  on  his  knees,  and  burying  his  face  in  the 
bottom  of  an  easy  chair.  This  was  a  signal  for 
Adolphus  to  do  likewise  ;  and  the  Captain,  not  to 
be  behind,  struggling  up  into  a  sitting  posture, 
leaned  forward  in  the  middle  of  the  coverlet,  with 
his  toes  and  the  end  of  his  shirt  deployed  upon  the 
pillows.  Then  the  Rev.  Melchior,  in  a  crying 
voice,  proceeded  according  to  the  homoeopathic 
practice — that  is,  making  it  short  and  sweet  as  pos 
sible — touched  upon  the  excellent  qualities  of  the 
sufferer,  the  distress  of  his  beloved  friends,  and 
especially  of  the  anxiety  which  would  be  awa 
kened  in  the  bosom  of  one  now  absent,  "whose 
heart  was  only  the  heart  of  a  woman,  a  heart  not 
strong  and  able  to  bear  up  against  calamity,  but 
weak,  and  fragile,  and  loving,  and  pitiful,  and  ten 

14 

- 


314  CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE. 

der ;  a  heart  that  was  so  weak,  and  loving,  and 
pitiful,  and  tender,  and  fragile,  that  it  could  not 
bear  up  against  calamity ;  no,  it  could  not ;  no,  it 
could  not ;  it  was  weak,  it  was  pitiful,  it  was  lov 
ing,  it  was  tender,  it  was  fragile  like  a  flower,  and 
against  calamity  it  could  not  bear  up." 

So  great  was  the  effect  of  the  Rev.  Melchior 
Spat's  eloquence,  that  the  Captain  fairly  cried,  so 
as  to  leave  a  round  wet  spot  in  the  middle  of  the 
coverlet,   and  Mr.   Mewker  wiped  his  eyes  fre 
quently  with  his  handkerchief,  as  he  rose  from  the 
chair.     And  although  the  voice  of  the  Reverend 
Melchior  had  been  heard  distinctly,  word  for  word, 
by  Jim,  in  the  far-off  stable,  yet  it  sank  to  the 
faintest  whisper  when  he  proceeded  to  inquire  of 
the  Captain  how  he  felt,  and  what  was  this  dread 
ful  story.     And  then  the  Captain,  in  a  voice  still 
fainter,  told  how  he  was  attacked  by  a  man  of 
immense  size,  mounted  on  a  horse  of  proportionate 
dimensions,  and  how  he  had  defended  himself,  anq 
did  battle  bravely  until,  in  the  fight,  "  Shatto  got 
skeared,  and  overset  the  wagon,  and  then  the  man 
got  onto  him,  and  pounded  the  life  out  of  him, 
while  he  was  entangled  with  reins."     Then  Mr. 
Mewker  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Spat  took  leave  with 


CAPTAIN    BELGKAVE.  315 

sorrowful  faces,  and  as  they  drove  home  again, 
renewed  the  jocularity  which  had  been  interrupted 
somewhat  by  the  visit  to  the  Oakery. 

To  say  that  Mr.  Mewker  neglected  his  friend, 
the  Captain,  during  his  misfortunes,  would  be  doing 
a  great  injustice  to  that  excellent  man.  Every  day 
he  was  at  the  Oakery,  to  inquire  after  his  health ; 
and  rarely  did  he  come  without  some  little  present, 
a  pot  of  sweetmeats,  a  bouquet,  or  something  of  the 
kind,  from  the  lovely  Lasciver.  How  good  it  was 
of  him  to  buy  jelly  at  two  shillings  a  pound  at  the 
store,  and  bring  it  to  the  Captain,  saying,  "  This 
little  offering  is  from  Harriet,  who  thought  some 
delicacy  of  the  kind  would  be  good  for  you." 
"Was  it  not  disinterested  ?  Hiding  his  own  modest 
virtues  in  a  pot  of  jelly,  and  presenting  it  in  the 
name  of  another  !  The  truth  is,  Mewker's  superior 
tactics  were  too  profound  for  Augusta  to  contend 
against ;  she  felt,  as  it  were,  the  sand  sliding  from 
under  her  feet.  Nor  was  Mewker  without  a  pow 
erful  auxiliary  in  the  Reverend  Melchior  Spat, 
who,  by  his  prerogative,  had  free  access  to  the 
house  at  all  times,  and  made  the  most  of  it,  too. 
Skillfully  turning  to  common  topics  when  Augusta 
was  present,  and  as  skillfully  returning  to  the  old 


316  CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE. 

subject  when  she  retired,  he  animated  the  Captain 
with  such  desire  for  the  lovely  widow,  that,  had  it 
not  been  for  his  black  eye,  he  would  assuredly  have 
gone  off  and  proposed  on  the  spot.  This  feeling, 
however,  subsided  when  the  Rev.  Melchior  was 
gone ;  the  Captain  did  not  think  of  marrying ;  he 
was  a  true  old  bachelor,  contented  with  his  lot,  and 
not  disposed  to  change  it  even  for  a  better  ;  besides, 
he  was  timid. 


VI. 

At  last  our  hero  was  able  once  more  to  go  about, 
and  Jim  drove  him  down  slowly  to  the  Mewkery. 
Such  a  noise  as  Bose  made  when  he  saw  the  car 
riage  approaching !  But-  there  was  no  present 
from  the  hand  of  his  friend  this  time  ;  so  Bose  con 
tented  himself  with  growling  and  snapping  angrily 
at  his  own  tail,  which  was  not  longer  than  half  a 
cucumber.  What  a  blush  spread  over  the  face  of 
the  Captain  when  he  saw  the  widow,  all  dimples 
and  dimity,  advancing  to  meet  him  in  the  familiar 
back-parlor!  How  the  sweet  roses  breathed 
through  the  shaded  blinds  as  he  breathed  out  his 
thanks  to  the  widow  for  many  precious  favors 


CAPTAIN    BELGKAVE.  317 

during  his  confinement.  They  were  alone  ;  the 
Captain  sat  beside  her  on  the  sofa ;  one  of  her 
round,  plump,  white,  dimpled  hands  was  not  far 
from  him,  resting  upon  the  black  hair-cloth  of  the 
sofa  bottom.  He  looked  right  and  left ;  there  was 
no  one  near  ;  so  he  took  the  hand  respectfully,  and 
raised  it  to  his  lips,  intending  to  replace  it  of 
course.  To  his  dismay,  she  uttered  a  tender  "  O  !' 
and  leaned  her  head  upon  his  shoulder.  "What  to 
do,  he  did  not  know  ;  but  he  put  his  arm  around 
her  bewitching  waist,  to  support  her.  Her  eyes 
were  closed,  and  the  long,  radiant  lashes  height 
ened,  by  contrast,  the  delicious  color  that  bloomed 
in  her  cheeks.  The  Captain  looked  right  and  left 
again  ;  no  one  was  near ;  if  he  could  venture  to- 
kiss  her  ?  He  had  never  kissed  a  pretty  woman  in 
all  his  life  !  The  desire  to  do  so  increased  ;  it 
seemed  to  grow  upon  him  ;  in  fact,  drawn  toward 
her  by  an  influence  he  could  not  resist,  he  leaned 
over  and  touched  those  beautiful  lips,  and  then — in 
walked  Mr.  Mewker. 

Had  Mewker  not  been  a  genius,  he  might  have 
compromised  everything  by  still  playing  the  hum 
ble,  deferential,  conscientious  part ;  but  hypocrisy 
on  a  low  key  was  not  his  cue  now  ;  he  knew  his 


318  CAT  TAIN    BELGKAVE. 

man  too  well  for  that,  and  besides,  familiar  as  this 
branch  of  art  had  been,  there  was  another  still 
more  natural  to  him  ;  he  was  wonderful  in  the  syc 
ophant,  but  matchless  in  the  bulty!  Those  little, 
weak,  bladdery  eyes  seemed  almost  to  distil  venom, 
as,  wrapping  his  knobby  arms  in  a  knot,  he  strode 
up  to  the  astonished  Belgrave,  and  asked  him 
"  how  he  dared  invade  the  privacy  of  his  house, 
the  home  of  his  wife  and  children,  and  the  sanctu 
ary  of  his  sister  ?  How  he  dared  trespass  upon  the 
hospitality  that  had  been  extended  toward,  nay, 
that  had  been  lavished  upon  him  ?  "Was  not  the 
respectability  of  the  Mewker  family,  a  family 
related  to  the  wealthy  Balgangles  of  Little-Cramp- 
ton,  and  connected  by  marriage  with  the  Shell- 
barques  of  Boston,  a  sufficient  protection  against 
his  nefarious  designs  ?  And  did  he  undertake, 
under  the  mask  of  friendship,"  and  Mewker  drew 
up  his  forehead  into  a  complication  of  lines  like  an 
indignant  web,  "  to  come,  as  a  hypocrite,  a  member 
of  the  church  (O  Mewker  !)  with  the  covert  inten 
tion  of  destroying  the  peace  and  happiness  of  his 
only  sister  ?" 

Belgrave  was  a  man  who  never  swore ;  but  on 
this  occasion  he  littered  an  exclamation :  "  My 
grief!"  said  he,  "I  never  had  no  such  idee." 


CAPTAIN    13  E  L  G  K  A  v  E  .  319 

"  What,  then,  are  yourintentious  ?"  said  Mewker, 
fiercely. 

"  T'  make  it  all  straight,"  replied  the  Captain. 

"  How  2" 

Belgrave  paused,  and  Mewker  shufiled  rapidly 
to  and  fro,  muttering  to  himself.  At  last  he  broke 
out  again : 

"  How,  I  say  ?" 

"  On  that  p'int  I'm  codjitatin'." 

"  Do — you — mean — "  said  Mewker,  with  a 
remarkable  smile,  placing  his  hand  calmly  on  the 
Captain's  shoulder,  "  to — trifle — with — me  2" 

"  ISTo,"  replied  poor  Belgrave,  surrendering  up, 
as  it  were,  what  was  left  of  him  ;  "  I'm  ready  to  be 
married,  if  that  will  make  it  all  straight,  provided," 
he  added,  with  natural  courtesy,  turning  to  the 
lovely  widow,  "  provided  this  lady  does  not  think 
me  unworthy  of  her." 

Mewker  drew  forth  a  tolerably  clean  handker 
chief,  and  applied  it  to  his  eyes  :  a  white  handker 
chief  held  to  the  eyes  of  a  figure  in  threadbare 
black  is  very  effective.  The  lovely  Lasciver 
remained  entirely  passive  ;  such  is  discipline. 

Here,  at  last,  was  an  opportunity  to  beat  a 
retreat.  The  Captain  rose,  and  shaking  Mewker'a 


320  CAPTAIN    B  K  L  G  R  A  v  E  . 

unemployed  hand,  which,  he  said  afterwards,  "  felt 
like  a  bunch  of  radishes,"  left  the  room  without  so 
much  as  a  word  to  the  future  Mrs.  Belgrave.  So 
soon  as  the  door  closed  upon  him,  Mr.  Mewker 
raised  his  eyes  from  the  handkerchief,  and  smiled 
sweetly  upon  his  sister.  The  thing  is  accomplished. 
As  some  old  bear,  who  had  enjoyed  freedom 
from  cubhood,  feels,  at  the  bottom  of  a  pit  dug  by 
the  skillful  hunter,  so  feels  Captain  Belgrave,  as  he 
rides  home  sorrowfully.  His  citadel,  after  all,  is 
not  a  protection.  Into  its  penetralia  a  subtle  spirit 
has  at  last  found  entrance.  The  air  grows  closer 
and  heavier  around  him,  the  shadows  broader,  the 
bridges  less  secure,  the  trout-brooks  blacker  and 
deeper.  How  shall  he  break  the  matter  to  Augus 
ta  ?  "  'No  hurry,  though ;  the  day  hasn't  been 
app'inted  yit ;"  and  at  this  suggestion  the  clouds 
begin  to  break  and  lighten.  Then  he  sees  Mewker, 
threadbare  and  vindictive ;  his  sky  again  is  over 
cast,  but  filaments  of  light  stream  through  as  he 
conjures  up  the  image  of  the  lovely  widow,  the 
dimpled  hand,  the  closed  eyes,  the  long  radiate 
lashes,  cheeks,  lips,  and  the  temptation  which  had 
so  unexpected  a  conclusion.  Home  at  last ;  and, 
with  some  complaint  of  fatigue,  the  Captain  retires, 


CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE.  321 

to  liis  high  tower  to  ruminate  over  the  past  and  the 
future. 

The  future  !  yes,  the  future !  A  long  perspec 
tive  stretched  before  his  eyes ;  and,  at  the  end  of 
the  vista,  was  a  bride  in  white,  and  a  wedding.  It 
would  take  'some  months  to  gradually  break  the 
subject  to  his  sister.  Then  temperately  and  mode 
rately,  the  courtship  would  go  on,  year  by  year, 
waxing  by  degrees  to  the  end. 


vn. 


Mr.  Mewker  altered  the  focus  of  Belgrave's 
optics  next  morning,  by  a  short  note,  in  which  he 
himself  fixed  the  wedding-day  at  two  weeks  from 
the  Captain's  declarations  of  intentions.  This 
intelligence  confined  the  Captain  two  days  in  the 
tower,  "  codjitating,"  during  which  time  everybody 
in  Little-Crampton  was  informed  that  Widow  Las- 
civer  and  he  were  engaged  to  be  married.  The 
news  came  from  the  best  authority — the  TCev.  Mel- 
chior  Spat.  On  the  evening  of  the  second  day,  a 
pair  of  lead-colored  stockings,  a  fustian  petticoat, 
a  drab  short  gown,  and  a  bright  bunch  of  keys, 
13* 


322  CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE. 

descended  the  steep  step-ladder  from  the  trap  in 
the  tower,  and  walked  into  the  room  adjoining. 
Then  two  hands  commenced  wringing  themselves, 
by  which  we  may  understand  that  Augusta  was  in 
great  tribulation.  The  rumor,  rife  in  Little-Crarnp- 
ton,  had  reached  her  ears,  and  her  brother  had 
confirmed  its  truth.  The  very  means  employed  to 
keep  him  out  of  danger  had  only  assisted  the  other 
party  to  carry  him  off.  This  should  be  a  warning 
to  those  wTho  interfere  with  affairs  of  the  heart. 
But  what  was  her  own  future  ?  Certainly  her  reign 
was  at  an  end  ;  a  new  queen-bee  was  to  take  posses 
sion  of  the  hive;  and  then  —  what  then?  kings 
and  kaisers,  even,  are  not  free  from  the  exquisite 
anguish  which,  in  that  hour,  oppressed  the  heart  of 
Augusta  Belgrave.  It  was  but  a  step ;  but  what  a 
step  ?  from  mistress  to  menial,  from  ruler  to  subor 
dinate.  She  knelt  down  heavily  by  the  bedside,  and 
there  prayed ;  but  oh !  the  goodness  of  woman's 
heart ! — it  was  a  prayer,  earnest,  sincere,  truthful 
and  humble  ;  not  for  herself,  but  for  her  brothers. 
Theiipher  heart  was  lightened  and  strengthened ; 
and  as  she  rose,  she  smiled  with  a  bitter  sweet 
ness,  that,  considering  everything,  was  beautiful. 
Great  preparations  now  in  Little-Crampton  for 


CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE.  323 

the  weding.  Invitations  were  out,  and  needles, 
scissors,  flowers,  laces,  ribbons,  and  mautua-makers, 
at  a  premium.  The  Captain  took  heart  of  grace, 
and  called  upon  his  lovely  bride,  but  always  man 
aged  to  get  past  that  lane  before  night-fall.  Hood 
&  Wessup  the  fashionable  tailors  of  Little-Cramp- 
ton,  were  suborned  to  lay  themselves  out  night  and 
day  upon  his  wedding-suit.  He  had  set  his  heart 
upon  having  Adolphus  dressed  precisely  like  him 
self  on  the  occasion.  Two  brothers  dressed  alike, 
groom,  and  groomsman,  look  remarkably  well  at  a 
wedding.  But  to  his  surprise,  Adolphus  refused  to 
be  dressed,  and  would  not  go  to  the  wedding  — 
"positively."  Neither  would  Augusta.  Brother 
and  sister  set  to  work  packing  up,  and  when  the 
expected  night  arrived  there  was  all  their  little 
stock  and  store  in  two,  blue,  wooden  trunks,  locked, 
and  corded,  and  ready  for  moving,  in  the  hall  of 
the  Oakery. 


vrn. 


It  was  a  gloomy  night  outside  and  in,  for  the 
rain  had  been  falling  all  day,  and  a  cold  rain-storm 
in  summer  is  dreary  enough.  But  cheerful  bara  of 


324  CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE. 

light  streamed  across  the  darkness  from  the  tower 
windows,  lighting  up  a  green  strip  on  a  tree  here 
and  there,  a  picket  or  two  in  the  fence,  and  band 
ing  with  an  illuminated  ribbon  the  side  and  roof 
of  the  dripping  barn.  The  Captain  was  making 
his  toilet.  "White  ruffled  shirt,  with  a  black  mourn 
ing  pin  containing  a  lock  of  his  mother's  hair; 
white  Marseilles  waistcoat,  set  off  with  an  inner 
vest  of  blue  satin  (suggested  by  Hood  &  "Wessup) ; 
trowsers  of  bright  mustard  color,  fitting  as  tight  as 
if  his  legs  had  been  melted  and  poured  into  them  ; 
blue  coat,  cut  brass  buttons,  end  of  handkercher' 
sticking  out  of  the  pocket  behind ;  black  silk  stock 
ings  and  pumps ;  red  check-silk  neck-cloth,  and  fly 
ing-jib  collars.  Down  he  came,  and  there  sat  bro 
ther  and  sister  on  their  corded  trunks  in  the  hall, 
portentous  as  the  Egyptian  statues  that  overlook 
the  Nile  from  their  high  stone  chairs.  Not  a  word 
was  said ;  but  the  Captain  opened  the  door  and 
looked  out.  "  Why,  it  rains  like  fury.  Jim  !" 

Jim,  who  was  unseen  in  the  darkness,  and  yet 
within  three  feet  of  the  door,  answered  cheerily, 
"Aye,  aye,  Sir!" 

"All  ready,  Jim?" 

"  All  ready,  Capt'in." 


CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE.  325 

"  Wait  till  I  get  my  cloak  ;"  and  as  the  Captain 
wrapped  himself  up,  his  sister  silently  and  carefully 
assisted  him ;  not  on  account  of  his  plumage,  but 
to  keep  him  from  catching  cold. 

Off  goes  Shatter,  Jim,  and  the  Captain ;  off 
through  the  whistling  rain  and  the  darkness.  The 
mud  whirled  up  from  the  wheels  and  covered  the 
cloak  of  the  bridegroom,  so  he  told  Jim  "  to  drive 
keerful,  as  he  wanted  to  keep  nice."  It  was  a  long 
and  dreary  road,  but  at  last  they  saw  the  bright 
lights  from  Mewker's  windows,  and  with  a  palpitat 
ing  heart  the  Captain  alighted  at  the  porch. 

Old  Bose,  who  had  been  scouring  the  grounds 
and  barking  at  every  guest,  started  up  with  a  fear 
ful  growl,  but  the  Captain  threw  off  his  travel- 
stained  cloak,  and  exhibited  himself  to  the  old  dog 
in  all  his  glory.  The  instant  Bose  recognized  his 
friend  and  benefactor  he  leaped  upon  him  with 
such  a  multitude  of  caresses  that  the  white  Mar 
seilles  vest  and  mustard-colored  trowsers  were 
covered  with  proofs  of  his  fidelity  and  attachment. 
"  Hey,  there  !  hey !  down,  Bose !"  said  Mewker  at 
the  door :  "  Why,  my  dear  brother  !" 

The  Captain,  with  great  gravity,  was  snapping 
with  his  thumb  and  finger  the  superfluous  mud 


326  CAPTAIN    BELGKAVE. 

with  which  Bose  had  embellished  his  trow- 
sers. 

"  Come  in  here,"  said  Mewker,  chuckling  and 
scratching  his  chin.  "  I'll  get  you  a  brush.  No 
hurry.  Time  enough  before  the  ceremony." 

The  Captain  walked  after  him  through  the  hall, 
and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  parlors,  radiant  with 
wax-lights,  and  crowded  with  such  a  display  of 
company  as  was  rarely  seen  in  Little-Crampton. 

"  Come  in  here,"  said  Mewker,  still  chuckling, 
as  he  opened  the  door.  "  This  is  your  room  ;"  and 
he  winked,  and  gave  the  bridegroom  such  a  nudge 
with  his  knobby  elbow  as  almost  tumbled  him  over 
the  bed.  "  Your  room — understand  ?  The  bridal- 
chamber  !  Wait  here,  now  ;  wait  here  till  I  get  a 
brush." 

The  Captain,  left  alone,  surveyed  the  apartment. 
The  pillow-cases  were  heavy  with  lace.  Little 
tasteful  vases  filled  with  flowers,  made  the  air 
drunk  with  fragrance ;  a  white,  worked  pin-cushion 
was  on  the  bureau,  before  an  oval  glass,  with  his 
own  name  wrought  thereon  in  pins'  heads.  The 
astral  lamp  on  the  mantel  shed  a  subdued  and 
chastened  light  over  the  whole.  Long  windows 
reached  to  the  floor,  and  opened  on  the  piazza ; 


CAPTAIN    BELGRAVE.  327 

light  Yenetian  blinds  were  outside  the  sashes,  with 
out  other  fastenings  than  a  latch.  The  Captain 
tried  the  windows,  and  they  opened  with  a  touch 
of  his  thumb  and  fore-finger.  He  had  not  slept  in 
so  insecure  a  place  for  more  than  twenty  years. 
Then  he  thought  of  the  phantom-horseman,  and  the 
deep  pond  behind  the  house.  He  shivered  a  little, 
either  from  cold  or  timidity.  The  window  was  par 
tially  raised,  so  he  throws  it  up  softly,  touches  the 
latch ;  the  blinds  are  open ;  he  walks  out  on  the 
piazza,  and  then  covertly  steals  around  to  the  front 
of  the  house,  where  he  finds  Shatter  and  the 
wagon,  with  old  Jim  peering  through  the  blinds,  to 
see  the  wedding  come  off. 

"  Jim,"  he  says,  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  "  take  me 
hum.  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  sleep  in  such  a  room  as 
that,  no  how." 

The  old  boy  quietly  unbuckled  the  hitching-strap, 
and  when  Mewker  got  back  with  the  brush,  Shat 
ter  was  flying  through  the  mud  toward  the  Oakery, 
at  a  three-minute  gait.  Two  or  three  quick  knocks 
at  his  own  door,  and  it  is  opened  by  Augusta,  who, 
with  her  brother,  had  kept  watch  and  ward  on 
their  corded  trunks.  The  Captain  took  the  candle 
from  the  table  without  saying  a  word,  ascen<rod  the 


328  CAPTAIN    BELGKAVE. 

stairs,  passed  through  scarp,  counterscarp,  glacis, 
and  ditch,  mounted  his  ladder,  drew  it  up  after 
him,  bolted  the  trap  in  the  floor,  and  cocked  his 
pistol. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  let  'em  come  on  !     They  ain't 
got  me  married  this  time,  anyhow !" 


THE    END. 


J.    C.    DERBY'S    PUBLICATIONS. 


THE     HIDDEN     PATH. 

A  NOVEL. 
BY  MARION  HARLAND. 

AUTHOR   OF   "  ALOXE." 

12mo.    Trice  $1  25. 

"  High  as  has  been  the  reputation  acquired  by  the  many  authoresses  of  our  country, 
we  shall  be  mistaken  if  the  writer  of  'Alone  '  and  of 'The  Hidden  Path'  does  not  take 
ere  long,  place  and  precedence.  She  combines  as  many  excellences  with  as  few  faulu 
as  any  one  we  can  at  the  present  writing  call  to  mind.  There  is  an  originality  in  her 
thinking  which  strikes  one  with  a  peculiar  force,  and  he  finds  himself  often  unconsciously 
recurring  to  what  has  had  such  a  powerful  effect  upon  him.  She  is  emphatically  an 
authoress  not  to  be  forgotten;  her  works  are  no  short-lived  productions,  for  they  hav« 
in  them  a  genius,  a  power  and  a  purpose." — Boston  Evening  Gazette. 

"It  forms  a  series  of  delightful  home  pictures,  changing  from  place  to  place,  but 
chiefly  confined  to  Virginia,  the  writer's  native  State,  and  she  paints  its  beauties  with  a 
master  hand.  She  loves  her  native  State,  and  has  paid  it  no  mean  tribute  in  her  book. 
We  congratulate  the  young  and  gifted  authoress  for  having  produced  a  work  so  remark 
able  for  its  delicacy,  purity  and  general  worth,  and  prophesy  for  her  a  brilliant  and 
successful  career  in  the  world  of  letters." — Old  Colony  Memorial,  Plymouth,  Mass. 

"It  will  every  way  sustain  the  praise  so  worthily  won  by  the  author's  first  effort.  It 
exhibits  the  sime  healthful  sentfment  and  beautiful  feeling,  the  same  truthful  simplicity 
and  yet  charming  elegance,  the  same  just  appreciation  of  different  phases  of  social  and 
domestic  !ife.  ^.The  tale  is  one  of  American  life,  and  is  most  aptly  and  gracefully 
wrought."—^.  Y.  Courier  atid  Enquirer. 

"  '  The  Hidden  Path '  is  a  work  of  originality  and  genius,  full  of  striking  thoughts, 
beauU«ul  descriptions,  and  graceful  conversation,  and  just  interesting  enough  as  a  story  to 
carry  the  reader  through  a  volume  from  the  perusal  of  which  one  rises  better  at  heart  and 
with  a  more  genial,  kindly  feeling  toward  humanity  in  general." — Boston  Daily  Journal. 
We  have  read  '  The  Hidden  Path  '  with  unmingled  pleasure.  It  is  one  of  the  best 
novels  of  the  day.  The  promise  given  by  Miss  Harland  in  her  'Alone'  has  been  fully 
met.  She  takes  rank  among  the  best  writers  of  fiction  of  this  age.  The  story  is  interest 
ing;  the  language  pure,  often  eloquent;  the  plot  natural  and  interesting;  and  the  mora 
excellent." — New  York  Daily  News. 

"We  take  the  liberty  of  confidently  commending  it  to  eur  readers  as  one  of  those 
gentle,  earnest  books  which  will  be  found  acceptable  to  all  pure  hearts,  and  become,  w« 
sincerely  trust,  an  especial  favorite  with  the  women  readers  of  America." — Philadelphia 
Evening  Bulletin. 

"  Home,  sincerity  and  truth,  are  Invested  with  most  attractive  charms,  and  their  valug 
enhanced  by  painful  contrasts.  While  engaging  the  Imagination  fey  its  well-conceived 
plot,  it  makes  all  submit  to  its  moral  impression,  and  enlists  the  reader's  approbation 
exclusively  with  the  virtuous  and  true." — New  York  Evangelist. 

"  Its  great  charm,  like  that  of  '  Alone,'  consists  in  the  sincerity  which  pervades  it,  and 
in  the.delicate  sentiments  of  love  and  friendship  which,  in  all  their  unadulterated  sweat- 
ness,  throw  a  magic  grace  over  the  whole  volume." — New  York  Day  Book. 

3 


J.    C.     I.KKBY  ri    ITliUCATlOXS. 


THE     L.IFE     AND    SAYINGS     OF     MUS. 
PAUTINOTON, 

AND  OTHERS  OF  TUB  FAMILY. 

BY  B.  P.  SniLLABER. 
\  elegant  12mo.,  43  Illustrations.    Price  $1  25. 

"*Uang  the  books  I'  said  an  appreciative  examiner,  to  whom  we  handed  a  copy  for 
Inspection, '  I  can't  afford  to  buy  them,  but  I  can't  do  without  this ;'  and  laughing  until 
the  tears  ran,  he  drew  forth  the  purchase-money.  It  is  just  so,  reader ;  you  can't  do 
without  this  book.  It  is  so  full  of  genial  humor  and  pure  human  nature  that  your  wife 
and  children  must  have  it,  to  be  able  to  realize  how  much  enjoyment  may  be  shut  up 
within  the  lids  of  a  book.  It  is  full  of  human  kindness,  rich  in  humor,  alive  with  wit, 
mingled  here  and  there  with  those  faint  touches  of  melancholy  which  oft-times  touch 
Mirth's  borders." — Clinton  Courant. 

"She  has  caused  many  a  lip  to  relax  from  incontinent  primness  into  the  broadest  kind 
of  a  grin — has  given  to  many  a  mind  the  material  for  an  odd  but  not  useless  revery — baa 
scooped  out  many  a  cove  on  the  dry  shores  of  newspaper  reading,  and  invited  the  mariner 
reader  to  tarry  and  refresh  himself.  *  Ruth  Partington  '  is  a  Christian  and  a  patriot. 
Such  a  book  will  go  everywhere — be  welcomed  like  a  returned  exile— do  good,  and  cease 
not." — Buffalo  Express. 

"  If  it  is  true  that  one  grows  fat  who  laughs,  then  he  who  reads  this  book  will  fat  up, 
even  though  he  may  be  one  of  Pharaoh's  •  lean  kine.'  That  it  does  one  good  to  laugh, 
nobody  doubts.  We  have  shook  and  shook  while  running  through  this  charming  volume, 
until  It  has  seemed  as  though  we  had  increased  in  weight  some  fifty  gounds,  more  or 
less.".  -JfaMachusett*  Life  Boat,. 

"  A  regular  Yankee  institution  is  Mrs.  Partington,  and  well  deserves  the  compliment  of 
a  book  devoted  to  her  sayings  and  doings.  She  is  here  brought  before  the  public,  which 
is  so  greatly  indebted  to  her  unique  vocabulary  for  exhaustJegt  stores  of  fun,  in  a  style 
worthy  of  her  distinguished  character." — &.  Y.  Tribune. 

"  There  is  a  world  of  goodness  in  her  blessed  heart,  as  there  is  a  universe  of  quiet  fun 
In  the  book  before  us.  '  A  gem  of  purest  ray  serene '  glitters  on  almost  every  page. 
Everybody  should  buy  the  book ;  everybody,  at  least,  who  loves  genial,  quiet  wit,  which 
never  wounds,  but  always  heals  where  it  strikes." — Independent  Democrat. 

"  It  is  crammed  full  of  her  choicest  sayings,  and  rings  from  title  page  to  '  finis '  with  her 
unconscious  wit.  It  is  just  the  book  for  one  to  read  at  odd  moments — to  take  on  the  car* 
or  home  of  an  evening — or  to  devour  In  one's  office  of  a  rainy  day.  It  is  at  excellent 
antidote  for  the  blues." — Oneida  Herald. 

"  Housewives  who  occasionally  get  belated  about  their  dinner,  should  have  it  lying 
round.  It  will  prevent  a  deal  of  grumbling  from  their  '  lords,1  by  keeping  them  so  well 
employed  as  to  make  them  forget  their  dinner." — New  Hampshire  Telegraph. 

"  Her '  sayings '  have  gone  the  world  over,  and  given  her  an  immortality  that  will  glitter 
and  sparkle  among  the  records  of  genius  wherever  wtt  and  humor  shall  be  appreciated." 
—  Worcester  Palladium.  7 


J.    C.    DERBrS    PUBLICATIONS. 


"IT  IS  A  LOVE  TALE  OF  THE  MOST  ENTKANCINO  KIND." 

Boston  Daily  Traveller. 

"WHO  IS  THE  ATTTHOB1?    WE  GUESS  A  LADY."— N.  Y.  Life  Illustrated. 


ISOBA'S      CHILD. 

1  large  12mo.  volume.    Price  $1  25. 

"  It  is  one  of  those  few  books  of  its  class  that  we  have  read  quite  through — for  we  found 
it  to  have  the  requisites  of  a  good  book,  namely,  the  power  of  entertaining  the  reader  to 
the  end  of  the  volume.  The  story  is  not  complex,  but  is  naturally  told ;  the  characters 
are  drawn  with  sharp  delineation  and  the  dialogue  is  spirited.  It  is  something  to  add,  in 
the  present  deluge  of  bad  books  with  pleasant  names,  both  the  morals  and  '  the  moral '  of 
the  work  are  unexceptionable.  It  is  understood  to  be  the  production  of  a  lady  whose 
name  is  not  unknown  to  the  reading  public ;  and  we  congratulate  her  ou  the  increase  of 
reputation  which  '  ISORA'S  CHILD  '  will  bring  her  when  her  present  incognito  shall  be 
removed." — Burlington  (Vt.)  Sentinel. 

"This  book  starts  off  with  its  chapter  first,  and  introduces  the  reader  at  once  to  the 
heroes  and  incidents  of  the  really  charming  story.  He  will  speedily  find  himself  interested 
as  well  by  the  graceful  style  and  the  skill  with  which  the  different  scenes  are  arranged, 
as  by  the  beauty  of  the  two  principal  characters,  and  the  lessons  of  loving  faith,  hope,  and 
patience,  which  will  meet  him  at  the  turning  of  almost  every  leaf.  This  is  one  of  the  best 
productions  of  its  kind  that  has  been  issued  this  season,  and  promises  to  meet  With 
warm  approval  and  abundant  success." — Detroit  Daily  Democrat. 

"  Another  anonymous  novel,  and  a  successful  one.  There  is  more  boldness  and  origi 
nality  both  in  its  conception  and  in  its  execution  than  in  almost  any  work  cf  fiction  we 
have  lately  read.  Its  characters  are  few,  well  delineated,  and  consistently  managed. 
There  is  no  crowding  and  consequent  confusion  among  the  dramativ  personoB.  There 
are  two  heroines,  however,  Flora  and  Cora,  both  bewitching  creatures,  and,  what  ii 
better,  noble,  true-hearted  women,  especially  the  former,  Isora's  child — the  dark-eyed  and 
passionate,  but  sensitive,  tender,  and  loving  daughter  of  Italy.  The  work  will  make  it? 
mark.  Who  is  the  author?  We  guess  a  lady,  and  that  this  is  her  first  book." — Weekly 
Life  Illunirated. 

"  Its  incidents  are  novel  and  effectively  managed ;  and  its  style  possesses  both  earnest 
vigor  and  depth  of  pathos,  relieved  by  occasional  flashes  of  a  pleasing  and  genial  humor. 
Among  the  crowd  of  trashy  publications  now  issued  from  the  press,  a  work  as  tiue  to 
nature,  and  as  elevated  and  just  in  its  conceptions  of  the  purposes  of  life,  as  this  is,  is  all 
the  more  welcome  because  it  is  so  rare.  We  have  no  doubt  it  will  be  as  popular  as  It  U 
interesting." — Albany  Evening  Journal. 

"  We  have  seldom  perused  a  work  of  fiction  that  gave  us  more  real  pleasure  than 
this.  From  first  to  last  page,  it  enchains  the  attention,  and  carries  your  sympathies 
along  with  the  fortunes  of  the  heroine.  The  descriptive  powers  of  the  unknown  authoress 
are  of  the  loftiest  order,  and  cannot  fail  of  placing  her  in  the  first  ranks  of  authorship. 'i 
—  Cincinnati  Daily  Sun. 

"A  story  which  perpetually  keeps  curiosity  on  the  alert,  and  as  perpetually  baffles  .". 
till  it  reaches  its  denoument,  is  certainly  a  good  one."— Buffalo  Commercial  ^.d«#rtf«»r. 


J     C.    DERBY'S    PUBLICATIONS. 


JACK    DOWNING'S   NEW    BOOK! 


•WAY      DOWN      EAST; 

OR,   PORTRAITURES   OF  YANKEE   LIFE. 

BY  SESA  SfflWI,  ESQ. 
Illustrated,  12mo.    Price  $1. 

"  We  greet  the  Major,  after  a  long  interval,  with  profound  pleasure  and  respect.  Well 
do  we  remember  how,  years  ago,  we  used  to  pore  over  his  lucubrations  on  the  events  of 
the  time — how  he  enlightened  us  by  his  home-views  of  the  Legislature's  doings,  of  the 
Gineral's  intentions,  and  of  the  plans  of  ambitious  Uncle  Joshua.  Here  was  the  '  spot  of 
his  origin,'  and  around  us  were  the  materials  from  which  he  drew  his  stores  of  instructive 
wit.  Therefore  we,  of  all  the  reading  public,  do  the  most  heartily  greet  his  reappearance. 
We  find  him  a  little  more  artistic  than  of  old,  more  advanced  in  grammar  and  orthography, 
but  withal  displaying  the  same  intimate  knowledge  of  Down  Eastdom,  and  retaining  the 
same  knack  of  genuine  Yankee  humor.  In  fact,  taking  all  things  together,  no  other 
writer  begins  to  equal  him  in  the  delineation  of  the  live  Yankee,  in  the  points  where  thai 
individual  differs  from  all  the  '  rest  of  mankind.'  This  is  his  great  merit  as  an  author, 
and  one  which  the  progress  of  manners  will  still  further  heighten — for  it  is  only  in  some 
portions  of  our  own  State  that  the  real  Yankee  can  now  be  found. 

"  The  present  book  has  sixteen  chapters  devoted  to  home-stories.  They  are  racy  and 
humorous  to  a  high  degree." — Portland  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  It  is  now  generally  conceded  that  Seba  Smith  is  the  ablest,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
most  amusing  delineator  of  Yankee  life  who  has  hitherto  attempted  that  humorous  style 
of  writing — not  excepting  even  Judge  Ilaliburton  himself.  This  is  no  rash  expression,  for 
there  is  not  a  passage  in  '  Sam  Slick '  so  graphic,  funny  and  and  comical,  but  we  find 
equalled  if  not  surpassed  in  the  sensible  and  philosophic,  although  ludicrous  epistles,  of 
1  Major  Jack  Downing' — epistles  of  which  we  defy  the  most  stupid  to  glance  at  a  para 
graph  without  reading  the  whole." — Philadelphia  News. 

"  This  is  a  book  of  real  Yankee  life,  giving  the  particulars  of  character  and  incidents  in 
New  England,  from  the  Pilgrim  fathers  and  their  generations,  Connecticut  Blue  Laws,  and 
the  civic  and  religious  rules,  customs,  &c.,  from  the  Nutmeg  State  away  down  Kast,  as  far 
as  Mr.  Jones  ever  thought  of  going.  It  is  a  very  laughable  affair,  and  every  family  in  all 
Yankeedom  will  enjoy  its  perusal." — Hingham  (Mass.)  Journal. 

"  There  are  few  readers  who  do  not  desire  to  keep  up  an  acquaintance  with  the  original 
Major  Jack  Downing,  whose  peculiar  humor,  while  it  is  irresistible  in  its  effects,  is  nevei 
made  subservient  to  immorality.  But  these  stories  are  an  improvement  on  those  originally 
given  by  the  author,  as  they  are  illustrative  of  Yankee  life  and  character  in  the  good  olc 
times  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers." — Christian  Advocate  and  Journal. 

"  The  stories  are  the  most  humorous  In  the  whole  range  of  Yankee  literature,  full  of 
genuine  wit,  rare  appreciation  of  fun,  and  giving  an  insight  into  human  motive  which 
shows  the  close  observation  and  keen  relish  of  life,  of  a  good-humored  philosopher." — 
S<iiu*-dtiy  Evening  Mail. 

"  A  charmingly  interesting  book,  this,  for  all  who  hail  from  Down  East,  or  who  likfc  to 
read  good  stories  of  home  life  among  the  Yankees."— Saltm  Regime? 

13 


J.    C.    DERBY  S    PUBLICATIONS. 


EXTRAORDINARY     PUBLICATION! 


MY    COURTSHIP   AND    ITS    CONSEQUENCES. 

MY  HENRY    WIKOFF, 

A  true  account  of  the  Author's  Adventures  in  England,  Switzerland,  and 
Italy,  with  Miss  J.  C.  Gamble,  of  Portland  Place,  London.  1  elegant 
12mo.  Price,  in  cloth,  $1  25. 

The  extraordinary  sensation  produced  In  literary  circles  by  Mr.  Wikoff's  charming 
romance  of  real  life,  is  exhausting  edition  after  edition  of  his  wonderful  book.  From 
lengthy  reviews,  among  several  hundred  received,  we  extract  the  following  brief  notices 
of  the  press: 

"  We  prefer  commending  the  book  as  beyond  question  the  most  amusing  of  the  season, 
and  we  commend  it  without  hesitation,  because  the  moral  is  an  excellent  one." — Albion. 

"With  unparalleled  candor  he  has  here  unfolded  the  particulars  of  the  intrigue,  taking 
the  whole  world  into  his  confidence — 'bearing  his  heart  on  his  sleeve  for  daws  to  peck 
at' — and,  in  the  dearth  of  public  amusements,  presenting  a  piquant  nine  days' wonder 
for  the  recreation  of  society."— Jf.  Y.  Tribune. 

"  The  work  is  very  amusing,  and  it  is  written  in  such  a  vein  that  one  cannot  refrain 
from  frequent  bursts  of  laughter,  even  when  the  Chevalier  is  in  positions  which  might 
claim  one's  sympathy." — Boston  Evening  Gazette. 

"  A  positive  autobiography,  by  a  man  of  acknowledged  fashion,  and  an  associate  of 
nobles  and  princes,  telling  truly  how  he  courted  and  was  coquetted  by  an  heiress  in  high 
life,  is  likely  to  be  as  popular  a  singularity  in  the  way  of  literature  as  could  well  be  thought 
of."— Home  Journal. 

"  The  ladies  are  sure  to  devour  it.  It  is  better  and  more  exciting  than  any  modern 
romance,  as  it  is  a  detail  of  facts,  and  every  page  proves  conclusively  that  the  plain, 
unvarnished  tale  of  truth  is  often  stranger  than  fiction." — Baltimore  Dispatch. 

"  The  book,  therefore,  has  all  the  attractions  of  a  tilt  of  knight-errants — with  this  addi 
tion,  that  one  of  the  combatants  is  a  woman — a  species  of  heart-endowed  Amazon." — 
Newark  Daily  Mercury. 

"  If  you  read  the  first  chapter  of  the  volume,  you  are  in  for  '  finis,'  and  can  no  more 
stop  without  the  consent  of  your  will  than  the  train  of  cars  can  stop  without  the  consent 
of  the  engine." —  Worcester  Palladium. 

"  Seriously,  there  is  not  so  original,  piquant  and  singular  a  book  in  American  literature 
its  author  is  a  sort  of  cross  between  Fielding,  Chesterfield,  and  Rochefoucault."— Boston 
Chronicle. 

"  With  the  exception  of  Rosseau's  Confessions,  we  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  heard 
of  any  such  self-anatomization  of  love  and  the  lover." — 2f.  Y.  Karprest. 

"  The  book  has  cost  us  a  couple  of  nighto'  sleep ;  and  we  have  no  doubt  it  baa  cost  it* 
author  and  principal  subject  a  good  many  more." — N.  Y.  Evening  Mirror. 

"The  work  possesses  all  the  charm  and  fascination  of  a  continuous  romance."— IT.  Y 
Journal  of  Commerce. 


J.    G.    DERBY  S    PUBLICATIONS. 


A     LONQ     LOOK     AHEAD; 

OR,   THE    FIRST   STROKE   AND   THE   LAST. 

BY  A.   S.    ROE, 

ACTED*  OF  "JAMES  MOXTJOY;  OR,  I'VB  BEES  THINKING,"  "  TO  LOVB  AXD  BE  LOVED,"  IT*. 
1  vol.  12mo.    Price  $1  25. 

"  The  purpose  of  this  book  is  so  manifest  to  inspire  juster  estimates  of  life  and  charac 
ter,  and  its  purpose  is  so  well  attained,  that  we  improve  the  occasion  of  noticing  it  to 
add  our  earnest  approval  of  its  lesson  and  moral,  perforce  of  convictions  born  of  our  own 
observation  and  experience.  We  have  read  the  book  thoroughly,  and  like  it  as 
thoroughly.  It  is  one  of  the  very  best  books  of  its  kind,  and  the  author  and  publisher 
have  both  '  dons  the  state  service  '  in  placing  it  before  th«  public."  —  N.  Y.  Evening 
Mirror. 

"  The  story  is  beautifully  told,  and  the  characters  are  types  of  moral  loveliness.  No 
one  can  read  and  ponder  it,  without  the  tears  starting  unbidden  to  the  eye,  and  sympa 
thising  hope  irradiating  the  countenance.  Such  works  do  much  to  counteract  the  evil 
tendencies  of  the  mushroom  trash  that  constitutes  our  bar-room  and  "  sporting  "  literature, 
and  the  thanks  of  the  public  are  eminently  due  to  both  the  author  and  the  publisher  for 
this  most  acceptable  counter  current  to  the  streams  of  demoralization  which  are  now 
sweeping  over  the  land."  —  Binghampton  Republican. 

"The  lover  of  the  country,  who  knows  its  scenes  and  duties,  who  can  delight  in  the 
gambols  of  the  young  colt  in  the  meadows,  or  enjoys  the  sweet  perfume  from  the  haycoek 
the  breath  of  the  cud-chewing  cow  —  better  still,  he  who  can  swing  a  scythe,  a  cradle,  or 
turn  a  smooth  furrow,  will  undoubtedly  relish  this  simple  narrative  of  country  life,  and 
the  pure,  unadulterated  native  American  manners  and  customs  therein  described."  — 
2fewark  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  It  has  a  charming  simplicity  and  purity,  and  its  characters  have  a  freshness  and 
naturalness  not  often  found  in  works  of  the  kind.  The  impression  of  the  story  is  ad 
mirable  —  adapted  to  inspire  the  young  with  sentiments  of  self-reliance,  honor  and 
integrity,  and  to  produce  charity  and  good  feeling  in  all.  The  religious  tone  which  it 
exhibits  is  excellent,  and  a  genial  warmth  pervades  the  whole  work."  —  JV.  Y.  Ecun- 


"  It  is  not  only  far  beyond  the  general  run  of  what  are  called,  by  courtesy,  American 
novels,  but  it  is  superior  to  many  books  that  have  sold  by  tens  of  thousands.  It  has 
positive  merits  of  a  high  order.  The  dialogue,  incidents  and  characters  are  natural,  and 
as  a  whole,  it  is  an  impressive  production.  We  connnend  the  novel  to  our  readers,  as  a 
pleasant  book."  —  Boston  Post. 

"  Whoever  commences  reading  what  he  has  written,  must  give  up  the  idea  of  attending 
to  other  business  until  the  story  is  read  through  ;  for  there  is  such  an  interest  excited  in 
the  subject  that  one  is  insensibly  compelled  to  read  on  to  the  end.  There  is  a  good  spirit 
pervading  his  writings,  which  insensibly  affects  the  reader."  —  Boston  Evening  Telegraph. 

"  You  cannot  finish  five  pages  of  this  work  (unless  your  heart  be  hard  as  adamant) 
without  finding  all  the  home  feelings  stirred  within  you,  and  you  read  on  and  on,  uncon 
scious  of  aught  beside,  unwilling  to  lay  it  by,  until  the  last  line  is  finished.  It  opens  with 
*ll  the  sweet  simplicity  of  Goldsmith's  '  Deserted  Village.1  "—Albany  Spectator 


j.  c.  DERBY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


"Bell's  sketches  are  instinct  with  life,  they  sparkle  with  brilliants,  are  gem 
med  with  wit,  and  address  themselves  to  almost  every  ehord  of  the  human 
heart." — Louisville  (Ky.~)  Bulletin. 


BELL    SMITH    ABROAD. 

A  Handsome  12mo.  volume.    Price  $1  00.    With  Illustrations  by  Ilealy, 
Walcutt,  and  Overarcho 

"  The  readers  of  the  Lmiixville  Journal  need  uo  introduction  from  us  to  Bell  Smith. 
Her  own  brilliant  pen,  and  her  own  sparkling,  witching  and  delightful  style  have  so  often 
grace:l  the  columns  of  this  paper,  and  have  made  so  many  friends  and  admirers  for  her, 
that  we  need  say  but  little  toward  creating  a  demand  for  this  charming  volume.  But 
some  tribute  is  nevertheless  due  to  Bell  Smith  for  the  real  pleasure  she  has  imparted  in 
every  chapter  of  her  book,  and  that  tribute  we  cheerfully  pay.  Her  admirable  powers 
seem  so  much  at  home  in  every  variety  and  phase  of  life,  that  she  touches  no  subject 
without  making  it  spirkle  with  the  lights  of  her  genius." — Louisville  Journal. 

"  She  is  ever  piquant  in  her  remarks,  and  keen  from  observation ;  and  the  result  ia 
that  her  '  Abroad'  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  collections  of  incident  and  comment,  fun 
and  pathos,  seriousness  and  gossip,  which  has  ever  fallen  under  our  notice." — Boston 
Evening  Traveller. 

"  It  is  dashing  and  vigorous  without  coarseness — animated  with  a  genial  humor — 
showing  acute  and  delicate  perceptions — and  sustained  by  a  bracing  infusion  of  common 
sense."— N.  Y.  Tribune. 

"There  are  many  delicate  strokes,  and  not  a  little  of  that  vivacity  of  description 
which  entertains.  The  author  shows  her  best  side  when  matters  of  home-feeling  and 
affection  engage  her  pen." — Jf.  Y.  Evangelist. 

"  History,  art  and  personal  narrative  are  alike  imprinted  in  your  memory  by  the  asso 
ciations  of  anecdote,  merry  and  grave,  and  you  feel  that  you  are  listening  to  the  magical 
roice  of '  Bell  Smith'  at  Jwme.  Such  volumes  enrich  and  honor  American  literature." — 
Philadelphia  Merchant. 

"  This  Is  a  capital  book  ;  full  of  life,  spirit,  vivacity  and  information — thoroughly  lady 
like,  and  telling  precisely  what  everybody  wants  to  hear,  so  far  as  the  author  knows." — 
Salem  Gazette. 

"  Spirited  and  artistic!  Bell  Smith  sparkles,  and  dashes  en,  amusing  and  interesting. 
A  capital  book  for  a  leisure  hour  or  railroad  travel,  or  for  those  seasons  when  you  want 
io  be  pleased  without  effort." — Cleveland  Leader. 

"  We  like  Bell  Smith  and  Bell  Smith's  book.  A  lively,  free,  dashing  style,  she  talks 
on,  and  nothing  is  wanting  but  the  merry  laugh  we  know  she  is  owner  of  to  make  us 
Jliink  we  are  listening  to  a  very  interesting  woman." — Chicago  Journal. 

"Lively,  gossiping,  chatting,  witty,  sparkling  Bell  Smith,  we  must  confess  your  book 
has  quite  enchanted  us." — JV.  Y.  Day  Book. 

"  In  freshness,  piquancy,  and  delightful  episodes,  illustrative  of  foreign  life  nd  man 
ners,  they  have  rarely  been  e  ;ualled."— Xiitimial  Era. 


j.  c.  DERBY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


A    BOOK    OF    BARE    HUMOR! 
THE     WIDOW     B  E  D  O  T  T     PAPERS 

JSY  FRANCIS  M.    WIIITCnSR. 

WITH    AN    INTRODUCTION    BT    ALICE    B.   KEAL. 

One  volume  12mo.,  with  8  spirited  illustrations  by  Dallas  and  Orr. 
Price  $1  25. 

Extract  from  a  Letter  to  the  Author  by  the  late  Joseph  C.  Neal 
"  Our  readers  talk  of  nothing  else,  and  almost  despise  '  Neal '  if  the  '  Widow '  be  not 
there.  An  excellent  critic  in  these  matters,  said  to  me  the  other  day,  that  he  regarded 
them  as  the  best  Yankee  papers  yet  written,  and  such  is  indeed  ths  general  sentiment. 
I  know,  for  instance  of  a  lady  who,  for  several  days  after  reading  ore  of  them,  wai 
continually,  and  often  at  moments  the  most  inopportune,  bursting  forth  into  fits  of  violent 
laughter,  and,  believe  me,  that  you,  gifted  with  such  powers,  ought  not  to  speak  disparag 
ingly  of  the  gift  which  thus  brings  wholesome  satire  home  to  every  reader." 


CONTENTS. 


Hezekiah  Bedott. 

The  Widow  Essays  Poetry. 

Widow  Jenkins'  Animosity. 

Mr.  Crane  Walks  in. 

The  Widow  Discourses  of  Pumpkins. 

The  Widow  Loses  her  Beau. 

Mr.  Crane  about  to  Propose. 

Mr.  Crane  Walks  out. 

The  Widow  "  Sets  her  Cap." 

The  Widow  Resolves  to  leave  Wiggletown. 

The  Widow  Trades  with  a  Pedlar. 

TliL-  Wi<low  and  Aunt  Maguire  Discourse  on 
Various  Topics. 

The  Widow  having  Heard  that  Elder  Sniffles 
is  Sick,  Writes  to  him. 

The  Widow  Resorts  to  Elder  Sniffles  for 
Religious  Instruction. 

The  Widow  concludes  to  Publish. 

The  Widow  Prepares  to  Receive  Elder  Snif 
fles  on  Thanksgiving-Day. 

The  Widow  Retires  to  a  Grove  in  the  rear 
of  Elder  Sniffles'  House. 


The  Widow  Writes  to  her  Daughter,  Mn. 
Jupiter  Smith. 

The  Rev.  Mrs.  Sniffles  Abroad. 

The  Rev.  Mrs.  Sniffles  at  Home. 

The  Rev.  Mrs.  Sniffles  Exp'esses  her  Senti 
ments  in  Regard  to  the  lar.  mage. 

Aunt  Maguire's  Experience. 

Aunt  Maguire's  Description  of  the  Donation 
Party. 

Aunt  Maguire  Treats  of  the  Contemplated 
Sewing  Society  at  Scrabble  Hill. 

Aunt    Maguire  Continues  her  Account  oft 

*    the  Sewing  Society. 

Aunt  Maguire's  Visit  to  Slabtown. 

Visit  to  Slabtown  Continued. 

Mrs.  Magaire's  Account  or'  Doacon  Whip- 
pie. 

Mrs.  Mudlaw's  Recipe  for  Potatoe  Pud 
ding. 

Morning  Calls ;  or,  Every  Body's  Particular 
Friend. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


NOV 1     19 


Form  L-9-15m-2,'36 


UC  SOUTHER1 


N  REGIONAL  LI  RARYFACm 


A   001375510    3 


H 


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•P 


